


All Things Lost And Broken

by Nadin



Category: Jurassic Park (Movies), Jurassic World (2015)
Genre: Adult Content, Angst and Humor, Clawen, Did I mention Clawen?, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of other characters - Freeform, Mutual Pining, Post-Jurassic World, mostly clawen-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-09
Updated: 2015-10-09
Packaged: 2018-04-13 18:22:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 60,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4532448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nadin/pseuds/Nadin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“What about Owen Grady?” His name felt odd in her mouth but if her voice cracked a little, no one paid attention to it.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>“Mr. Grady did not find the idea of going back to the park particularly appealing.”</i>
</p><p>The only reason Claire Dearing agreed to go back to Jurassic World was because Masrani Global promised her that Owen Grady would NOT be coming along. Well, she's in for a surprise. (It's probably better than the summary)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a Clawen trash and I regret nothing. Also, 2018 is sooooo far away, and I kinda have to keep myself entertained, I guess? Agh, this story just happened, and it's totally out of my control at this point. Also, some of us love everything angsty, so.... 
> 
> Enjoy the ride!
> 
> (PS I couldn't find Barry's last name anywhere so I made it up, but if you guys know what it is, please let me know :))

_This time all I want is you_  
_There is no one else_  
_Who can take your place_

 _I've seen enough and it's never enough_  
_It keeps leaving me needing you_

_"Take Me Away" by Lifehouse_

* * *

 

“ _YOU DID **WHAT**? ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?_ ”

Claire pulled the phone away from her ear, wincing a little. She rubbed the bridge of her nose and decided that even if she hung up right now, she would still be able to hear Karen yell at her all the way from Wisconsin, which made her feel bad for Wisconsin in general. Not that her sister had no reason to be upset.

Had someone asked Claire a few months ago if she’d even consider going back to Isla Nublar, she’d laugh in their face and tell them to go to hell. No, wait, that would be Owen. She’d just laugh in their face. And then she’d slam the door on her way out for good measure.

So, all things considered, Karen’s reaction was not entirely surprising. Or uncalled for, for that matter. Which did not make it any less loud.

To say that the aftermath of the Jurassic World incident was pure hell would be an understatement, to put it mildly. If Claire had to imagine a place where Hell would go if it had to go to hell, this would be it. Since the moment she stepped off the ferry in Costa Rica and until, well, now there were reporters following her everywhere and shoving their microphones and cameras at her with admirable persistence. Her face was all over the news and every other kind of social media where she was either praised for saving the island from the Indominus Rex (ha!), or cursed for allowing the massacre to happen in the first place.

The court hearings were a special kind of fun, the one that Claire got to enjoy mostly with her mouth shut while the lawyers did the talking. No one was there to hear about Hammond’s ideas or Simon Masrani’s dedication, and could she blame them? If it was her family slaughtered during their Christmas vacation, she’d personally tear the whole island down without so much as a second thought. She wouldn’t even need Ian Malcolm’s and Alan Gant’s _I told you so_ ’s to start seeing red. And what could she say anyway? That they _thought_ the paddock was safe? That they _assumed_ everything was under control? That they _chose_ to go after the Indominus with non-lethal weapons even after she had already killed several people?  

So she kept her lips pursed tight, her chin held high, and her hands balled into fists with her nails digging into the soft flesh of her palms – the only thing that kept her from actually screaming.

And then there were long nights spent with her face pressed into a pillow and the sobs wrecking her body, and the guilt breaking her in half, and the memories she wanted to claw out of her mind if only she knew how. And the days when she would feel the ground vibrate under the passing truck and think it was the T-Rex chasing after her again, the hot Californian sun beating on her skin much like the heavy breath of the beast. And the times when she would curl into a ball on the floor of her bathroom, with her arms wrapped around her knees, and tell herself to keep on breathing _– in, out, in, out_ \- because she couldn’t do it anymore. She couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t…

She wanted to personally track down whoever said that time healed everything and punch them in the face for not specifying just how long it was supposed to take her to start feeling comfortable in her own skin again. She learned from experience that “There’s not enough therapy in the world” wasn’t just a figure of speech either – her health insurance with the Masrani Global covered the sessions but talking about the events at the park was making it worse. It was making her remember the things she didn’t think she knew, and so she quit before the damage got unrepairable. She learned to ignore the reporters, not to look back when she heard her name being called out on the street, and to hope that one day she would feel a little less broken.

“No,” she said without hesitation when the question of her return to Isla Nublar first came up, making sure that her face clearly read _Over my dead body_. There was no way – no way IN HELL – she’d even consider it ever again. No, she’d had enough dinosaurs for the rest of her life.

They let her be. Let her fight her demons on her own, which Claire was grateful for. They made her believe it was finally over.

And so she did not see anything strange in being summoned to the office of Greg Anderson, the man appointed by the Masrani Corp Board of Directors to take over some of the Simon Masrani’s projects a little while ago. Not until she walked in and saw Lowery already slouched in one of the chairs by the conference table the size of a landing stripe.

He gave Claire a small wave, and her insides twisted into a knot.

“Absolutely not,” she repeated when Greg Anderson laid out his plans to her.

“I understand where you’re coming from, Miss Dearing—”

“No, you do not.” Claire cut him off. “You’re insane in you think that the park could be salvaged after everything that happened.”

“This is not what we’re going for. For now.”

 _For now_. She all but snorted. _Please!_

“You need to leave the island alone.”

“What happened in Jurassic World was a tragedy,” Anderson continued, either oblivious to her attitude or choosing to ignore it. “But the land on Isla Nublar still belongs to the company, and so do the remaining… animals.” He linked his fingers together resting his forearms on the desk and looking at Claire over the rim of his glasses. “As you’re aware, we did the basic clean-up, but before we decide if we’re going to keep the island as a conservation area, or turn it into an attraction again, it needs to be taken care of properly.”

Claire kept her face blank. How could they not understand what they were doing?!

Lowery shifted in his seat.

“Mr. Cruthers here kindly accepted our offer to help with the technical side of this project. Of course, he will have a team of experts at his disposal, but his knowledge of the park’s operational systems and infrastructure will be of a great advantage at this point.” Anderson cleared his throat. “Naturally, we’re going to involve a group of veterinarians and asset containment specialists to help with the practical execution of this task.”

“There is a T-Rex running loose on that island,” Claire reminded him. “It’s not a lost puppy. It’ll kill everyone you send over there simply because it’s in its nature.” She huffed. “Have you really enjoyed dealing with the lawsuits and settlements so much you want to give them another go?”

Anderson took off his glasses, pulled a handkerchief out of his pocket, cleaned the lenses and returned the glasses back on his nose. “It’s a done deal, Ms. Dearing. I did not call you here to ask for your opinion or your permission. The teams are getting ready now, whether you like it or not.” Which made sense, except Claire still couldn’t believe this conversation was happening. “But they need a leader, someone to coordinate their activities, and right now there’s no one in this company who knows this job better than you do.”

 _Unbelievable_. Claire shook her head, looking for a moment over Anderson’s shoulder and out the window at the vast expanse of the San Diego business district with a thin strip of deep-blue ocean on the horizon. He couldn’t possibly be serious!

“This is crazy.”

Anderson disregarded her comment. “And as for your question, we have successfully captured and contained the T-Rex before. I’m not saying it’s going to be easy, but you and I both know it’s doable.” He paused. “We’re assigning a security team – courtesy of InGen – to keep everyone safe and to take care of this particular issue.”

She wanted to laugh at that, except it came out short and bitter, and entirely humorless. “Because it worked so damn well the last time around.”

But she was wavering for the reasons she couldn’t put her finger on just yet, and she knew Anderson could sense it.

She straightened her back, pursed her lips, put her most detached face on. _You don’t have to do it_ , she told herself. _You can walk out of here and never come back_.

“Who else are you sending?” She asked.

“Well, as I mentioned, Mr. Cruthers will be taking care of the IT aspects, and Mr. Dufour will be responsible for capturing and containing the assets.” He flipped through a stack of papers before him and pulled out a list of the assigned team member before sliding it over to Claire. “I believe you’ve worked together before.”

 _Barry_.

Claire’s heart did a small somersault as she scanned the names, registering a few familiar ones. The majority of people she’d never heard of before though, which made sense – those who knew what was waiting for then on that island had most definitely swore it off for good.

She put the list down, looked at Anderson again. “What about Owen Grady?” His name felt odd in her mouth but if her voice cracked a little, no one paid attention to it.

Anderson straightened the papers, closed the folder. “Mr. Grady did not find the idea of going back to the park particularly appealing.” He shrugged impassively.

“I believe his exact words were ‘ _Hell, no! No fucking way!_ ’” Lowery muttered, keeping his eyes down, and the corner of Claire’s mouth tugged up ever so slightly.

She took her time, allowing the wheels in her head to turn, taking in the information, the risks, and the very prospect of doing this _again_. It was insane, but she knew that trying to prove that to the Board would be just as effective as banging her head on the wall – in the end, she’d be the one exhausted and maybe hurt.

It wasn’t like she didn’t see it coming. Anderson was right – from the managerial standpoint, the park that turned overnight from being the most profitable project of Masrani Global into the most disastrous fiasco had to be dealt with one way or another. She just didn’t expect them to turn back to it this soon. In a couple of years – maybe. After only eight months? Someone either had big plans for it (which she honestly didn’t want to go into), or they needed a publicity stunt of some sort to try and redeem themselves, prove that they were on top of the situation.

“You’re under no obligation to accept this offer. If you decline, we will appoint someone else, but the Board thinks that your participation would make the process faster and smoother.”

Beside her, Lowery stiffened. Claire could have sworn he was holding his breath, too.

At last, she nodded slowly.

“You sure you want to do this?” Lowery asked the moment the two of them stepped into the hall and the door to the conference room closed behind them.

Claire rubbed her corners of her eyes, no longer even trying to remember the last time she had a good night’s sleep. “This is the last thing I want to do, believe me.” What she did want to do was to throw up, perhaps. “But he’s right – if you want to do something well, do it yourself.”

He snorted softly, then shifted from foot to foot, stuffed his hands into the pockets of his pants, and gave her that knowing look she had already started to hate. “He’s transferring, you know.”

 _Play dumb, play dumb, play dumb_.

“Who?” She met his eyes, her face a stone mask.  

“Owen. InGen offered him something on the East Coast, I’m not sure about the details but he said yes.”

 _Play cool, play cool, play cool_.

It was none of her business, she reminded herself. Hadn’t been for quite a while now. He could move to the moon, for all she cared. Except it wasn’t exactly working that way, and the black hole in her chest that would usually make Claire want to curl in on herself and cease to exist had just started closing up, damn it!

She shrugged and started walking down the corridor, hoping it would make it harder for Lowery to read her face. Besides, dinosaurs or not, she had an afternoon meeting to attend. “Good for him,” Claire said at last, noticing that Lowery fell into step beside her.

"We might need him, you know that, right? I mean I'm sure that if you asked--"

"The only reason I'm going is because Mr. Grady isn't," she cut him off. 

“Claire—” he began.

She stopped and turned to him, all but daring him to say anything she didn’t want to hear. “What?”

Lowery gave her a lopsided smile. “Welcome to the team.”

So, THAT happened two weeks ago.

She should have probably called Karen and told her the news straight away. Or the day after that. Or the day after that. Or even a week ago would’ve worked better than mere 36 hours before she was supposed to be shipped off to Costa Rica again and her condo looked like a set of a post-apocalyptic movie because between saying yes and realizing that it was actually happening, she somehow forgot to pack. Also, she was a chicken and she knew exactly how that conversation would go. And now the entire population of Madison did, too.

“It’s not that big a deal, really.” With the phone squeezed between her ear and her shoulder, Claire pulled a bunch of hangers out of her closet and threw them onto her bed.

“ _Not a big deal? In 49 states out of 50, it would be considered a suicide attempt. Should I call 911?_ ”

“You don’t have to be so melodramatic, you know.”

“ _I’m not being—_ ” Karen cut off and said to the side, “ _No, honey, no one is hurt. Aunt Claire has just lost her mind._ ” And then to Claire, “ _Gray says hi_.”

“Karen—”

“ _You almost died there! It could’ve been you in one of those coffins I saw when we_ —”

“Look, it’s not like I’m going after a bear with a slingshot.” _Just after a T-Rex with a stick_. “It’ll be totally safe.” And maybe if she repeated that enough times, she’d be able to believe it herself.

 “ _Well, excuse me for not buying that_.” Karen inhaled sharply. “ _Why are they making you do this again?_ ”

“No one is making me do aything, okay? I’m doing it because I need to do it to have a… closure, or whatever.” Claire sank heavily onto the bed. “I need to stop being scared of that place.” She bit her lip. “It’s going to be okay.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the line, and Claire could picture her sister pacing restlessly in her kitchen, half-fuming half-terrified out of her mind, and if her guilt wasn’t overwhelming enough before, it certainly reached a whole new level of ‘not cool’ this very moment. She looked at her open suitcase, at piles of clothes stacked on every surface in her bedroom, at the open drawers and what had once been a very orderly life. It wasn’t too late to change her mind – no one would tie her up and shove into the helicopter when it came down to it. And Karen was right – what _was_ she thinking, exactly?

Except she knew it wasn’t that simple because fear and post-traumatic issues aside, there were animals on this island she felt responsible for. They didn’t keep them in different enclosures just for the convenience of the park guests. Some of the species came from different ecosystems. Some of them weren’t meant to co-exists with one another, and it wasn’t like they could migrate elsewhere, and…

Karen let out a resigned sigh. “ _You promise?_ ”

“I swear.”

“ _And you’ll call. A lot_.” Not a question – a demand.

“So much you’ll get sick of me.” Claire’s lips curled into a small smile.

“ _Works for me. And, Claire?_ ”

“Yeah?”

“ _I love you_.”

“Love you, too.”

\---

When the helicopter started circling Isla Nublar approaching the landing platform over the control center, Claire’s stomach clenched. From up there, it looked familiar and yet as alien as the first time she came here all those year ago.

As Greg Anderson mentioned, the company did some clean-up in the weeks following the park’s downfall, mostly retrieving the bodies and salvaging the equipment and the data that could be used in court to prove that the Indominus Rex incident was a singular event and that the park was perfectly safe for nearly a decade prior to it. To show that up until this unfortunate Christmas, the worst thing the guests had to face was mosquitoes.

Claire breathed out slowly and tried to relax her hands that were clasped tight in her lap. Lowery’s guys and some of the InGen people flew in a couple of days ago to secure the main buildings they were going to use and check the fences, and it was only her and a vet named Anthony Maxwell who Claire never met before in the chopper now – aside from the pilot. They nodded a hello to each other back in San Diego and had barely said two words since. Which was totally fine with Claire. He seemed too busy going through a thick folder of God knows what anyway – her best bet was on the dinosaur species he was about to encounter for the first time in his life. She almost felt bad for him.

It was too late to have cold feet, but looking at the park from above now – at what was left of it, that is – made a heavy dread settle in her stomach. Maybe coming back here was a bad idea after all. Maybe she should have quit and moved to New Jersey or something. Maybe she should’ve started anew and tried to forget the whole thing altogether instead of cutting old wounds open before they could even begin to scar.

Maybe she could just open the damn door now and jump out until it was too late…

But before that thought even fully formed in her head, the helicopter touched the roof of the control center with an audible thud, shuddering all over on impact and making her grab the armrest of her seat – on instinct more than anything, really.

Mr. Maxwell climbed out first, shaking hands with someone Claire couldn’t see clearly because of the sun beaming in her face and then disappearing in the building, and then it was her turn to step into the humid heat and the wind of the chopper blades that kept throwing her hair in her face. She shielded her eyes with her hand from the merciless sun and finally got a chance to take a proper look at their ‘welcome party’.

Dressed in the InGen uniform and with a rifle slung over his shoulder, Barry looked more like a soldier than an animal handler (or a poker player, or a beer-drinker) she remembered. But his face was open and his smile was broad and genuine, and it somehow lifted the weight of the world off of her shoulders.

“Hey, Claire,” he greeted her, squinting in the sun, and she felt her own lips stretch into a smile for the first time in what felt like forever.

It took Owen _weeks_ and a great deal of mockery to get him to start calling her by her first name instead of Miss Dearing (because _Come on, man, seriously!_ ) – long after she’d given up on _It’s Claire, Barry,_ _really,_ and she was happy it finally stuck. She doubted she’d ever feel at ease in this place again, but seeing Barry made it feel almost like coming home.

“Barry.” From what she knew about the man, he could probably snap her neck without breaking a sweat, but it didn’t stop her from raising on her tiptoes and giving him a hug. “How’s everything going on here?”

He offered her a crooked grin. “The systems are all set up and running. And no one’s been eaten yet.”

“Don’t even joke about it,” she shook her head, following him to the door and into the cool belly of the control center, which looked and smelled exactly as she remembered – of concrete and processed air. Some things never changed.

“I’ll have one of my guys take your bags to the hotel,” he looked at her over the shoulder. “Is that okay?”

“That would be perfect, thank you,” she nodded, trailing after him down the steep stairs.

“There are cars are your disposal, although I wouldn’t recommend going anywhere alone. Just to be safe.” He held the door open for her as they finally reached the control room level. “The vets usually bring one of us over. We’ve got firepower, too. Also, you could have your old office back if you want.”

“I think I’ll just camp out here for a while.”

The control room looked exactly the same, except instead of twenty people there were only Lowery and a man and a woman Claire wasn’t familiar with.

At the sound of their footsteps, Lowery tore his eyes away from the monitor and span around in his chair. “Hey, boss.” He saluted to her. “How was the flight?”

“Bumpy.” Claire made her way closer to the main screen, her eyes taking in the digital map of the island. “How are we doing here?”

He cleared his throat. “Well, the good news is, most of the tracking implants are still functional and we can easily locate the majority of the animals.”

“Most, not all,” Barry stepped closer to Claire, his eyes also scanning the map.

“Right.” Lowery turned his chair back to his desktop, his fingers flying over the keyboard. “There are two Pachys and a whole herd of Microceratus running wild and free between the valley and the raptors’ paddock, and the vet patrol spotted a Paras—something by the beach on the east side of the island.” He looked at Claire again. “We might have to capture and sedate them to check their implants, maybe replace them.”

She processed the information. “And the bad news?”

“The island is huge, and with the fences down, some of the guys wandered off pretty far.” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “If you want them back on the park territory, it might be a bit of a challenge.”

Claire bit her lip. What she wanted first was to have them all accounted for, to know the exact number of the animals and their food preferences. Then they needed to see if any of the dinosaurs were sick or injured and take care of them before deciding what to do with them. Also, a long hot shower didn’t sound particularly bad.

“The resort territory is secure, more or less,” Lowery continued meanwhile. “There’re occasional Pteradonons flying around, but most of them had long settled in the western part of the island. There’re cliffs out there, they like them. So, just keep your eyes open.”

“What about the Mosasaurus?”

“Fed and happy,” Lowery reassured her.

“And she’s easy to keep an eye on,” Barry added with a small smile.

“And the T-Rex?”

Barry pointed at the map. “She stays close to the old park because it makes a good hunting ground. Her tracker in functional, and you can see her coordinates on your phone.”

“Yeah, better not go there for a walk, perhaps,” Lowery commented.

Claire took a deep breath and then exhaled slowly. This felt good. Normal even, as far as normal went in this place. She was in her element again, with her feet on the ground instead of being suspended in the air. This whole plan suddenly felt possible. Hell, it almost felt _doable_ – something she couldn’t quite imagine even a few weeks ago.

Her eyes darted from Lowery to Barry and back to Lowery. “Anything else I should know about?”

“A construction crew is coming in tomorrow to clean up the Main Street and reinforce some of the paddocks.” Lowery told her. “And…. That’s about it for now.” He shrugged. “You can go settle if you want. Unpack. Grab a beer – if you can find one.”

Barry wasn’t joking about the cars. Or the firearms.

Claire took one of the park jeeps intending to go straight to the hotel, take a bath and fall into bed for the next 14 hours, but instead she found herself driving along the winding roads and narrow paths of the park, heading deeper and deeper into the lush jungle of the island. With her mind abuzz, she couldn’t bear the thought of being stuck in her room, alone, with her brain being a death trap even on the best of days lately. The mere idea made her feel claustrophobic and sick.

Driving, on the other hand, felt liberating. Her hands and feet moved and shifted mechanically, steering the car forward, and for once, it seemed less like running away and more like moving on. She rolled her window down and allowed the wind to whip her hair as it pleased, breathing in deep scents of earth, ferns and orchids hanging over her head. It wasn’t hot, per se, especially for late August, but the air felt thick and heavy, which was a nice change after the dry heat of California.

She slowed down at the fork in the road. Turning right would take her to one of the beaches, which did not sound like a bad idea at all. Which sounded like a pretty damn good idea actually. But then her hands were already spinning the wheel and steering the car to the left, heading deeper inland, and before Claire knew it, she was pulling over by the familiar picnic table at the end of the driveway.

She killed the engine, struck by near complete silence that settled around her instantly, then pushed the door open.

A metal bucket of a trailer was still where Owen had left it months ago, right by his bungalow. It did not look particularly abandoned, probably because he never bothered to keep it neat in the first place, but the grass was coming up almost to her knees now and there was a broken branch hanging low over the roof of the trailer – a result of one of the storms, she guessed. Claire made her way towards the wooden porch and climbed up the steps that creaked in protest under her weight.

A flock of birds took off the nearest tree, making her all but jump out of her skin, but otherwise the place seemed quiet and deserted.

He didn’t come back for any of his stuff, that much she was certain of. They went from the innovation center to the evacuation hangar in the docks to the ferry, neither one of them concerned about their possessions left behind. Not with the beasts breathing down their necks and the monsters haunting their minds. Funny how easy it sometimes was to have one’s priorities sorted out. Claire wondered what she’d find inside the bungalow if she went in, but even with Owen being thousands of miles away and without any intention of ever coming back here it still felt like invasion of his privacy. She reached for the doorknob on impulse – just to check if it was locked at all – only to pull her hand back back and step away.

She had no business being there, Claire told herself. For one thing, it wasn’t safe. It also wasn’t – shocker! – particularly healthy. She should’ve left. She shouldn’t have come in the first place, for that matter. Instead, she headed for the dock that swayed a little under hear feet, ignoring the mosquitoes that took their fierceness to a whole new level near the water. The air was still, and she inhaled deeply, finally seeing why he would choose to live here, in the middle of nowhere, instead of sticking with the accommodation provided by InGen. Peace of mind was so underappreciated.

“I would’ve never pegged you for a sentimental type.”

Startled, Claire whirled around, only barely keeping her balance on the wet boards slippery after the rain that fell in the morning. Her heart jumped up to her throat and then plummeted down into her stomach somehow growing in size in the process, taking all the space inside of her body until there was nothing left for, say, lungs. So maybe this was why she could feel its hollow thuds even in her fingertips. And maybe this was why she couldn’t take a proper breath without chocking on something in her throat.

Either not noticing, or – most likely – ignoring her surprise, Owen put the box he was holding in his hands on the already crowded desk by the porch. He hooked his thumbs in the belt loops of is cargo pants before giving her an apprehensive look, his smirk not quite reaching his eyes and only making his gaze heavier in contrast.

Frankly, Claire would’ve preferred to see a T-Rex.

**To be continued....**


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the feedback and for your patience, guys! :D 
> 
> (No, YOU are counting the days till Jurassic World 2! ... 1043)

“Owen,” Claire breathed out wishing she had something to grab on to, or to lean on. Also, if the ground just opened under her feet and swallowed her, she wouldn’t have really minded either. Sadly, she seemed to have run out of luck a long time ago.

Sticking together after the incident didn’t work out as well as either of them expected. Not even close.

After their return from Isla Nublar, things got bad. And then they got worse. Every goddamn reporter in a hundred mile radius made it their personal mission to corner her someplace or another and try to get a ‘statement’ from her, or, as Claire suspected, provoke an outburst of any kind so that they could turn it into a bigger scandal.

She knew it wasn’t personal.

She knew they were just doing their job.

She hated every single one of them with a burning passion.

Dealing with the press used to be her forte – steady voice, lined-up facts and figures, an air of confidence that had them eating out of her hand. But she’d never been under this kind of attack before, never had to defend every single word coming out of her mouth. Not since Ian Malcolm made it his crusade to open their eyes to the idea of going through with the park all those years ago and she foolishly threw herself under the bus, metaphorically speaking, whishing she’d done it for real by the time the press conference was over. She actually contemplated demanding a raise just for having to deal with that man. Well, now that unfortunate day seemed like a trip to Disney World.

And it wasn’t even that bad while she was still riding high on adrenaline and shock, which lasted for about a week. When it wore off, however, Claire found herself in a whole different kind of hell. After the first few nights when her mind would simply shut off sending her into deep, dreamless sleep, she couldn’t even close her eyes without seeing rows and rows of blood-stained teeth, without feeling her lungs burn from the lack of oxygen while her legs refused to carry her body to safety. She’d open her mouth to scream but no sound would come out.

It was like someone pulled the plug on her sanity. She’d stay up all night lying in bed and watching the digital clock on her bedside table blink away one agonizingly long second after another while her brain went over and over through a _hundred-thousand-million_ things waiting for her to take care of them until she’d begin to feel like she was losing her mind.

And _that_ was even before the court hearings started and she had to sit through hours of people talking about the park and about her like she wasn’t even there. She’d be labeled as a hero and as a murderer (usually in a span of 10 minutes - rinse, recycle, repeat). Before she had to start making phone calls to the families of the diseased to express her ‘sincere condolences’, which made her sick to her stomach because what could she possibly tell those people to make them feel better?! _Murderer, murderer, murderer_. Hero? Not so much

Claire spent the first two months after the incident either unable to leave the house because there was too much space and too much noise outside for her mind to cope with, or feeling _trapped-scared-suffocating_ in her apartment, except there was nowhere to go, nowhere to hide.

And Owen…

Owen was there.

He planned to stay with her for a few days – _Until I find something else, I swear_ – which turned into weeks, and then into months. Claire didn’t mind one bit. She knew she needed him to be her anchor just as much as he needed her to be his because the only thing worse than dealing with the mess they found themselves in was dealing with it alone.

She’d watch him play video games when he couldn’t sleep, and he’d sit on the other side of the bathroom door when it was the only place in the world that made her feel safe, talking to her about nothing in particular just so she’d know he was there. She’d pick up his favourite food for dinner _(“Are you trying to eat your weight in tacos, Grady?”_ ), and he’d teach her how to cheat in poker (“ _Hey, you shouldn’t do it, but it doesn’t hurt to know the tricks_ ”). By unspoken agreement, they never mentioned the park, or the Indominus-Rex, but they didn’t need to. Not really. They just needed to know that there was someone else who understood.

And then Claire woke up one night to the sound of Owen watching the midnight reruns of _Seinfeld_ in the living room, and nearly had a heart attack. Not because of _Seinfeld_ of course, but because it had finally hit her how much she wanted him to be there, how much she _needed_ him not to just be there but to stay there, how okay she was with hearing Jerry Seinfeld’s voice in her apartment at 3 in the morning, and this simply wasn’t okay.

She’d always been the strong one, the independent one, the one that went and got things done. And now she was the broken one, the damaged one, the one that couldn’t get her life together. How was that possible? And more importantly, what would she do when he was gone? And he would be, eventually. It wasn’t like they had a relationship to speak of. Which meant that she needed to take the situation under control.

Claire returned to work the next day, against her better judgement and ignoring the protests of the Masrani Global lawyers that were swimming through heaps and piles of lawsuits and preferred to have her on the other side of the line for the time being. She started avoiding Owen _in her own goddamn house_ , would dodge his questions, wouldn’t so much as look at him when he was in the room. She all but moved into her office pulling one all-nighter after another. She did what she knew how to do best – she shut him out, locked the door, and threw out the key. It hurt so bad she thought she would die, but what else could she do, really?

He wasn’t an idiot. He knew where this was going.

Easter rolled around and Karen asked her to come visit them because Claire _had promised_ not to fall off the face of the Earth again, and Claire wasn’t in a position to start breaking her word. They weren’t having it easy either, what with Karen and Scott’s divorce being in full swing and the boys being caught between a rock and a hard place. When she announced her decision to go to Madison for the holidays to Owen, he asked if maybe it was time for him to get his own place. She didn’t protest, didn’t bother hiding her relief at not having to actually ask him to do it. When she came back from Wisconsin a week later, her condo was Owen-free.

He tried calling at first, but she wouldn’t pick up most of the time. Not because she didn’t want to talk to him but because she did, desperately so. And then he stopped - who wouldn’t? They’d run into each other now and then – in the Masrani Corp corridors, or the coffee shop nearby, or (Claire’s favourite) the court house – nod a brief hello to one another and be on their way without breaking a stride. She’d see him sometimes at the cafeteria having lunch with Kristen something-or-another from accounting and hurry out before he had a chance to see her, forgetting about the food.

She’d never felt more miserable in her life, but at least she was in control again. And so what if it didn’t feel like living?

And now he was standing before her, tall, and solid, and as approachable as a wild animal. And just as guarded too, making Claire wonder if she’d finally lost it.  

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she blurted out. “They told me you weren’t coming.”

He scoffed. “Yeah, otherwise you wouldn’t be caught dead on this island. No need to spell it out, really.”

Oh, he was there alright. Claire sucked in an unsteady breath, willed herself to keep it together as the shock of her initial surprise began to wear off giving way to what she could only describe as panic.

“Isn’t it the only way to be caught on this island?” She stepped off the dock and onto the soft grass, only now noticing another car with the park’s logo on the hood mostly hidden behind the overgrown ferns, and kicked herself mentally for not spotting it straight away. “Wait, shouldn’t you be halfway to Florida or something?”

Owen arched his eyebrows, amused. “New York, actually. I’m transferring, not retiring.” And as an afterthought, “Thanks for keeping tabs on me. I’m flattered.”

“I wasn’t—” She clamped her mouth shut and pursed her lips for good measure. There was no way she’d give him the satisfaction of having the upper hand. No way!

“Why are you here, Claire?”

“Same reason as you, I believe. Doing the right thing by the dinosaurs—”

“No, what are you doing _here_?” He swept the clearing and his bungalow with a glance.

“Making you feel uncomfortable.” She deadpanned – because two could play this game – which made his mouth twitch and his gaze soften, but only for a moment. She folded her arms on her chest, gave him a measured look. “No one told me about the change of plans.”

Owen shrugged, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. “I don’t know anything about that. My job was not to miss my flight. You might have to take everything else to Human Resources.” He turned and strode back to the car and pulled another box from the backseat. “One of the guys couldn’t make it because of some family emergency. They were desperate.” He set it next to the first one. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t think you’d make it here either. I mean we both know how much you like changing your mind last minute.”

Which was a cheap shot, and they both knew it. A part of her saw it coming, but it still felt like a sucker punch.

“That’s not fair.”

“You shouldn’t be here on your own. It’s not safe.”

She tipped her chin up. “I have a tranq rifle.”

Owen glanced briefly over his shoulders and at her car, barely visible behind the trees from his spot. “You’d die ten times before you’d get to it.”

She noticed his own rifle then, lying between the boxes on the table, close at hand as per usual. He also had a gun – a real one, with the bullets and all that – in a holster on his hip, as well as a walkie-talkie strapped to his waist belt. Owen Grady was anything but unprepared.

Claire walked up to him until there was not more than half a foot between them, taking notice of the fact that he actually sucked in his breath when she approached. He kept his ground though. She didn’t budge either, invading his personal space just for the hell of it, ignoring the narrowing of his eyes, the stiffened line of his shoulders. He looked about as trapped as she felt, which was a relief – at least she wasn’t alone in this weird limbo.

“And wouldn’t that be a win-win for both of us?” She tilted her head slightly to the side, held his gaze daring him to… to do anything, period. Owen didn’t move, didn’t so much as blink, keeping his face blank. “There will be a staff meeting tomorrow at 9 to discuss... well, everything. Do us all a favour, Mr. Grady, and try to show up on time, will you?”

She strode off without looking back, and then spent 5 minutes trying to start her car because her hands were shaking and she couldn’t get the key into the ignition. If Owen wondered what was taking her so long to leave his little corner of the world, he didn’t bother to come and ask.

\---

There were exactly two times in Owen Grady’s life when he felt the ground slip from beneath his feet – when he saw his first dinosaur (a herd of Triceratops actually, on his ride from the ferry terminal to the Henry Wu’s lab on his first day on the island). And when he found Claire Dearing, of all people, on his doorstep. And damn, she looked good in those casual slacks and sensible sandals and with her hair that was now falling past her shoulders in soft waves. She still looked like she just fell out of a corporate meeting, but he couldn’t help noticing that without those ridiculous heels of hers she was more than half a foot shorter than him, and if he put his arms around her, her head would fit just under his chin…

Owen shook his head, chasing this image away.

He did not come to this godforsaken place for Claire Dearing. He had a plan – a mission, if you please – and at this point, he’d very much prefer not to have to deal with anything related to her.

Except it was too much to ask for, wasn’t it?  

He ran his hand through his hair, then slammed his fist on the table, making the whole thing shudder and some of the stuff piled on top of it roll off onto the grass.

This place was a mess. He had already took notice of the fact that the roof of the bungalow was leaking, and that one of the tropical storms that tended to roll across the island as they pleased managed to rip the solar batteries off the roof of the trailer, which was a huge thing he desperately didn’t want to deal with. It was a miracle everything was still standing, the elements and the dinosaurs considered. And right now he needed his generator to start running again, whatever the hell was wrong with it, if only for the sake of the frozen food he planned to live off in the foreseeable future. He did not have time to stew over his unresolved issues with the woman who made it fucking clear she didn’t want to have anything to do with him.

Owen ignored the sound of the approaching vehicle, didn’t so much as turn when the engine died and the door was pushed open and then slammed shut – the only things he was concerned about in this park were the ones that didn’t drive.

“Can I help you with something _else_?” He asked over his shoulder, certain that it was Claire who came back to remind him about the dress code or something else equally exciting, and God help them all—

“Thought you might need those.”

Owen snapped his head up.

It wasn’t Claire. It was Barry, and not just Barry, but Barry carrying a six-pack of Bud, which right now was Owen’s favourite combination.

He dropped the screwdriver back into the toolbox and wiped his hands on the oil-stained rag, grinning. “Please tell me those are actually scotch.”

\---

Back at home, Claire took to running in the surf in the morning. She’d start before dawn, catching a glimpse of occasional surfers paddling into the waves, and sprint right into the sunrise, pushing herself forward until her lungs began to burn and her knees were moments away from buckling. There was something powerfully liberating in the simplicity of it – just the movement of the muscles beneath her skin, the rhythmic pattern of her breathing, the salty taste of the ocean in the air, the way the sand gave in so easily under her feet. It was only when the howl of the wind filled her ears that she’d stop hearing the roars of the Indominus-Rex in her head.  

It was so easy not to think, to pretend that maybe if she put some physical distance between herself and her life, she would be able to look at it from a different angle and see something she wasn’t noticing all along. It was the only thing that made her feel in control when her whole life was nothing but chaos.

And so she was doing it again – racing against the wind in the early hours of the day, cutting through the mist and scaring hell out of the crabs that scurried back into the water at her approach, and hoping she wouldn’t end up being someone’s breakfast before she had a chance to have hers. Now, wouldn’t that be ironic?

When she arrived at the hotel the previous night, Lowery was sitting in the bar – now empty and service-free – playing Angry Birds on his tablet and humming something unrecognizable under his breath.

“You knew, didn’t you?” She stomped over towards him.

He raised his hands up. “Only as of this morning, I swear.” Good. At least they weren’t playing dumb and dumber. He eyed her somewhat warily for a few moments. “Is it going to be a problem?”

Was it?

Claire pushed harder, increasing her speed until she started to feel like she was going to spread her wings and take off any moment. It wasn’t even 7 in the morning, but the air already felt thick, the temperature climbing up fast. Soon, she knew, even walking would feel like too much effort, but now she marveled in the occasional spray of water on her calves and the emptiness all around her – something she wasn’t used to anymore.

At last, she skidded to a halt and bent forward, resting her hands on her knees and hungrily gulping humid air with her mouth, waiting for her heartbeat to go back to normal.

It didn’t change anything – with or without Owen, they had a task at hand. The two of them could be professional about it, right? She knew she could. If there was anything she was good at, that was it. Why would this situation be any different?

Claire straightened up and wiped sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. Her gaze swept across the water and fierce waves crushing against the sand at her feet before finally pausing on a dark, heavy cloud creeping in on the island from the west. If they were lucky, the wind would steer it into the sea and keep the storm off the coast.

But she didn’t have much hope for that.

\---

“Hey, I thought we were going to check the plain west of the golf course,” Owen’s brows drew together when Barry pulled their Jeep Safari to a stop in the shade of two palm trees on the Main Street plaza. From their spot, he could see a couple of construction workers in bright yellow hardhats demolishing the skeletal remains of what used to be an ice-cream parlour and a Starbucks while the third one kept to the side, talking on the phone.

“We are,” Barry nodded.

“Then what—” Owen cut off when the doors to the Hilton slid open, spitting Claire into the blazing afternoon sun. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he muttered under his breath. “What is she doing here?”

Claire strode to the vehicle and climbed into the back seat, nodding a hi to Barry. “Nice to see you, too, Mr. Grady.” She buckled her seatbelt. “You might need to work on your indoor voice.”

“We’re not ind—” He slumped against the back of his seat and shot a glare at Barry. _Seriously?!_ “Whatever.”

“She’s the boss,” Barry shook his head not even trying to conceal his amusement before making a u-turn and starting to maneuver their way out of the resort and towards the enclosures.

“Is there a problem, _Mr. Grady_?”

He snickered, “No problem at all, _Claire_.” He met her eyes in the rearview mirror. “You just caught me by surprise. I didn’t know you owned shorts. I almost didn’t recognize you.”

She did not dignify _that_ with any kind of response.

Because of course he did – he knew everything. Because back in San Diego, they had Lululemon days when they raced each other on the beach. And then there were sweatpants days spent on the couch – those usually involved Chinese food and a lot of bad movies. And then there were court days when she’d pull on the dress pants or a pencil skirt, and Owen would cringe his way into a suit and allow her to take care of his tie pointedly calling it a noose in the process. He knew exactly what the inside of her goddamn closet looked like. Hell, he probably knew what she kept in her underwear drawer, for that matter. She was not inclined to discuss it.

So she turned to Barry instead. “What’s the plan?”

“If you want to bring up the invisible fences again, we might have to redefine the boundaries of the enclosures. Hold on.” And Claire promptly grabbed the metal frame just as the jeep jumped up hitting a bump in the road. Barry went on, “We needed the biggest one for the Apatosauarus herd.”

“But there’re only two of them now,” Claire mused, scanning the field that opened before them.

“Triceratops, on the other hand, could use some extra space to migrate from pasture to pasture,” Owen suggested, all business.

She nodded. Okay, they were talking. About the dinosaurs. But they were being civil about it. In 12 words or less. She held tighter on to whatever she could reach for when Barry took a sharp turn and pushed her hair out of her face.

“And what about…” Claire began just as her phone started to ring, cutting her off. “Excuse me. Lowery? ... No, we just left the resort.” She looked back at the Innovation Center disappearing behind the palms. “Where? …. Did anything happen? … Yes, okay. Of course.”

“Everything alright?” Barry asked.

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” She stuffed the phone into the pocket of her shorts and leaned closer to the front seats, speaking over the wind. “Could we make a stop in the valley? There’s a group of vets working there, and they seem to need – and I quote here – some extra firepower.”

“Sure.” Barry took another turn, speeding up towards a cluster of trees to the right from them.

It was a grey leathery heap that Claire noticed first when he parked the car five minutes later only realizing that it was actually a Stegosaurus lying on its side when she climbed out of the jeep. She stopped short in her tracks, her mind flashing back to that horrible day all those months ago when she and Owen witnessed an Apatosaurus die after the Indominus attack, her throat closing up and her world zooming in on the giant form on the grass in front of her.

She knew damn well that they were alive – back then as well as now. She just sometimes wished she didn’t.

“Claire?”

She turned to the sound of Owen’s voice to find him looking at her quizzically, waiting. She swallowed hard, suppressing the urge to climb into the car and start driving and never stop until she reached Alaska or something.

Instead, she squared her shoulders and started walking to where Barry was standing by the animal, trying oh so hard not to think of how her name sounded in Owen’s mouth moments ago without the usual snide of the past couple of days.

“What happened here?” Claire asked in a hollow voice as the dinosaur grew bigger the closer she came to it.

She didn’t see so much as feel Owen join her, the skin of her neck prickling at his proximity in a familiar, almost comfortable way.

“Nothing much.” Someone who wasn’t Barry’s told her, and it was only then that Claire noticed Dr. Maxwell kneeling by the Stegosaurus. “Ms. Dearing.” He straightened up when she climbed the last few feet up the low hill and pulled off white medical gloves covered with what Claire was certain was blood before tossing them into a black garbage bag at his feet. “Her implant was turning on and off, so we had to sedate her and have a look at it, but she’s going to be okay in--” he glanced at his watch, “—forty to sixty minutes.”

Claire’s eyes fixed on the gauze patch on the animal’s back near its neck and felt her shoulders sag in relief. Yeah, okay, that would explain the presence of one of Lowery’s guys – Evens, wasn’t it? – standing slightly to the side and looking five shades of green. She wondered absently if he knew that he would have to participate in the dinosaur surgeries when he signed up for what was probably supposed to look cool on his resume.

Behind them stood two InGen men, dressed in black like Barry and Owen, with the tranq rifles slung over their shoulders. They nodded to Barry and shook hands with Owen. “There’re some toothy guys lurking in the trees,” one of them pointed at the grove on the other side of the valley with a jerk of his head.

“Metriacanthosaurus,” Dr. Maxwell added helpfully.

“We didn’t want to be outnumbered.”

“Good call,” Barry shifted his own rifle to another shoulder and knelt by the Stegosaurus, placing his hand on her side that kept rising and falling with her slow breathing.

“I want to stay with her until she comes to, to make sure that everything went fine,” Maxwell explained in an almost apologetic voice. His gaze darted towards the trees for a moment. “And that she’s not eaten in her sleep.”

“Of course,” Claire mustered a small smile, her heart still doing somersaults in her chest. Honestly, if she never saw a dead dinosaur again, it would still be too soon. She took in a shaky breath and raked her fingers through her hair – a nervous gesture she’d long given up on trying to control. “You can never be too safe here.”

“I’ll stay,” Barry stood up. He tossed the car keys to Owen. “You can go.”

“You sure?” Owen caught them without even looking.

“Yeah, we’ve got it. I’ll see you later.”

Owen nodded curtly and started towards the car, only noticing Claire when she caught up with him beating him to the jeep and pulling the passenger door open. He watched her climb in with a frown creasing his forehead.

“You can stay with them if you want.”

Which sounded more like _Why the hell wouldn’t you?_   Which Claire chose to ignore.

“No one is going anywhere on this island alone.” She kept her voice even and business-like as she struggled with her seatbelt – at least it gave her an excuse not to look at him. “It’s not safe, you said it yourself.”

“I don’t need a babysitter.” He slammed his door and started the jeep again.

“Since when?” Claire muttered, keeping her eyes on the bumpy trail ahead.

They rode in silence for a while, neither one of them knowing how to fill it, their shoulders stiff and their mouths set stubbornly as the wind whipped their hair.

Well, her hair mostly. Claire curled her fingers into tight fists until she could feel her nails leave half-moon-shaped marks on her palms and kept her gaze straight ahead.

“I didn’t come here for you, Claire,” Owen said all of a sudden without looking at her.

“Didn’t think you would.”

“I just wanted to make sure Blue was okay.”

“I thought as much.”

“She’s never been on her own for this long before.” A pause. He wasn’t even sure if her was still talking to her or simply thinking out loud. “Raptors are pack animals, this whole thing must be odd and confusing for her.”

“Has anyone seen her yet?”

“No,” Owen shook his head. “The raptors never had tracking implants because they were a science project, not the park’s attraction.” And then, “But if she’s here, I’ll find her.”

He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. It was odd not to know what to say to her, to have to walk on eggshells around everything he couldn’t even put into words. What seemed as natural as breathing only a while ago – talking to her, being around her, not feeling like a complete idiot – was awkward and painful now, and he hated the fact that they were here, in this weird place where they were nothing but strangers and the carefully choreographed dance they used to do around one another was no longer working.

Owen took in a breath. Small talk. They could do small talk, right? Because if they fell into one of those heavy silences again, he might as well just throw himself out of the car.

“So… how’ve you, you know, been?”

“Good. Pretty good actually,” Claire said quickly, cringing a little at how fake it came out. “You?”

“Just as good, I guess.”

“Not so much then.”

“Not really,” he echoed with a small wistful half-smile. “Have you been seeing anyone?”

“What does that have to do with—”

“I was talking about a therapist.”

“Oh.” Right. Of course. “Not since I figured out that I don’t have to pay $150 an hour to relive the worst thing that happened to me when I can do it for free.”

He shot her a quick look, trying and failing to sound nonchalant. “And about… that other thing?”

“Owen…”

“What? Too soon?”

“No. Look.”

There was something behind the trees, something odd and out of place.

Owen hit the brakes, his hand already reaching for the rifle.

“Stay here.”

Which might’ve been a good idea, but Claire’s hand was already pushing the door open, her legs carrying her to what she initially mistook for a giant boulder as her heart began to hammer against her ribcage.

“I told you to stay in the car,” Owen threw over his shoulder at the sound of her footsteps – the gravel crunching under the soles of her boots and the leaves brushing against her calves and hips as she tried to keep up with him without tripping over the tree roots protruding from the ground.

“And I didn’t. It doesn’t even have a roof, for heaven’s sake. What good would it—Oh, my god!” She stopped short and pressed her hands to her mouth.

It wasn’t a boulder, of course. She stepped around Owen to take in an animal carcass covered in thick brown fur slashed to shreds and spattered with blood. A deer. A very dead one. It was currently staring at her with its unblinking brown eye with what Claire could only interpret as accusation. She took an involuntary step back, dizzy and nauseated.

Owen crouched down beside the deer, looking very much a predator himself as his gaze scanned the marks on the dead animal. “Still warm. It couldn’t have happened more than 10 minutes ago.”

“You think it could be… a raptor?”

Claire swallowed uneasily and looked around at the forest listening so hard for anything that could be lurking behind the trees that her head started to hurt. It seemed quiet and still – as quiet and still as it could be, but it didn’t mean anything. She knew that it could be deceiving – the survival of most of the animals inhabiting this place depended on their ability to move without a sound and stay undetected until it was too late for their prey to try to escape. And right now she and Owen were all but screaming _Dinner served!_

“No,” he tilted his head. “You see those bite marks?” She did, but she really wished she wouldn’t have to. “They’re too big to be raptor’s. Too wide, too. Might be the Metriacanthosaurus the guys saw in the valley.”

He stood up slowly and got a better grip on his rifle, his whole body rigid and his eyes narrowed as he took in their surroundings.

“But why would they kill something and leave it?” Claire murmured.

“They wouldn’t. Not unless they were chased off by something else.” Owen turned to her slowly. “We need to get out of here. Now.”

The ground shuddered under their feet as a deafening roar rolled over the trees, scaring a flock of birds that took off with panicky shrieks disappearing in the sky before the echo of the roar died down.

_Oh, hell no!_

Owen’s fingers flexed on the gun as they both whirled around to face the source of the sound, still hidden from their sight by the lush overgrowth. He moved back – carefully, slowly, making sure to avoid stepping on anything that could crunch under his feet – steering Claire to the side, keeping himself between her and whatever was coming for them. Instinctively, she grabbed onto his arm, her fingers and nails digging into his skin, which would probably be painful under different circumstances, but right now, he could barely feel it.

Right after the Indominus-Rex incident, InGen sent him – and every single employee that was in the park that day – to a shrink. To talk it over, they said, to start putting it behind the, blah-blah-blah. It was pointless. As Claire mentioned, he didn’t need help remembering that horrid day in every gruesome detail, so he was mostly zoning in and out as a balding guy in a tweed suit kept on droning about the nature of the emotional trauma and its impact on a human mind. Owen contemplated telling him that his time on the Navy wasn’t a summer camp either, but chose not to bother – he came here to get InGen off his back, not to spill his heart and soul to a stranger he was not going to see again in life.

What he did remember the man mentioning though was that the kind of incident that happened in Jurassic World fell under the category of 'Lightening never strikes twice in the same place'. Yes, it was awful. Yes, it was traumatizing. But unlike, say, a car accident, it was not something that the employees or the guests of the park would ever have to experience again because, unlike cars, the dinosaurs weren’t exactly running around. And so on, and so forth.

Well, funny story--

“Is that—” Claire began in a choked voice.

“The T-Rex.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments are appreciated :) In totally unrelated news, Clawen rocks!


	3. Chapter 3

There was one thing in the world Claire knew for sure – that stuff people said about one’s life flashing before their eyes when they were about to die was a load of crap.

The first time she felt hot breath of a prehistoric beast on her skin, her mind turned into a black hole that threatened to fold in on itself any moment as the fear wrapped around her like a thick suffocating blanket. She didn’t think of her first day of school, of the numerous family trips, or birthdays, or visiting her sister at the hospital when first Zach and then Gray were born. She was not capable of thinking, of remembering, of feeling like a human being, for that matter. There was only terror and a heavy sinking realization that she wanted it to end.

This time was no different, not really.

The moment the roar broke the silence and stillness of the jungle around them, she was frozen, paralyzed to her core, unable to so much as take a breath, let alone move or think or be.

The logical part of her knew that the Indominus was _dead-gone-eaten_ , and it was _only_ a T-Rex – and how the hell did she even get here? This thought alone summed up nicely just about everything that was wrong and broken about her. And maybe she did need help after all because who thinks that?!

And then there was the part of her that wanted to start screaming until her voice was the only thing she could hear, until she could no longer hear the roar that was chilling her to the bone with primitive fear. She wanted to scream until the world around her was making sense again because it hadn’t been the case for so long Claire couldn’t even remember what it felt like.

She could feel Owen’s rapid pulse under her fingers vibrating into her own body as he sidestepped her, steering her back and closer to the tall, thick tree, his eyes never leaving the moving greenery before them. Claire sucked in an unsteady, shuddering breath when her lungs began to burn from trying to hold it for too long.

And then…

She wasn’t sure what happened first – the heavy drops of rain hit the ground as the sky above them opened at last or the T-Rex finally stepped into the clearing, craning her neck and sniffing the air. Her body was mostly gravitating towards the deer and the smell of blood, but her nostrils kept twitching and moving, and Claire knew she was aware of their presence to at least some degree.

There was a wall of water between them and the dinosaur now, the rain lashing down on them with furious determination, blurring the edges, and Claire hoped against all hope that it would dull their scent and conceal their presence.

She stepped further back and her foot landed awkwardly, slipping on the wet root of the tree and making her nearly lose her balance. Her fingers closed on the sleeve of Owen’s shirt, and he span around pushing them both behind the tree and pressing his hand to her mouth.

_Oh God, oh God, oh God!_

“Don’t move,” Owen told her in a barely audible whisper removing his hand. “Stay still.”

Claire nodded slowly, almost numbly, her eyes huge and terrified in near complete darkness that downed on them in less than a minute. The sun had already been inching towards the horizon when they left the valley a while back, but it was the storm that plunged everything in deep purple shadows pierced now and then by the blinding whiteness of lightning, the rain seemingly growing stronger with every moment.

Behind the tree, they could hear the T-Rex move about the clearing, sniffing and growling lowly, the ground trembling under her every step. Claire’s fingers kept holding on to the sleeve of Owen’s shirt so tight her knuckles turned white and her heart was beating right in her throat, and couldn’t the T-Rex hear it yet? And Owen was so close, practically pressed to her, his body radiating enough heat to melt an iceberg, which was making her shiver violently whenever the wind threw cold needles of rain on her back.

“You’ve got a gun,” she whispered urgently into his collarbone. “Can’t you—” _shoot her_. She couldn’t bring herself to say that, “—make her go to sleep?”

God, she had apparently lost her ability to think altogether.

“Her skin is too think,” he shook his head, his breath falling on her cheek. “It would be like throwing pebbles at an elephant.”

“So, you suggest we just wait here?”

He considered her question. “Pretty much. She’s got what she came for--”

The walkie-talkie on his belt crackled with a sharp hiss of static. Then Barry’s voice broke through it, barely recognizable. “ _Owen?_ ”

They froze, and so did the T-Rex, and the next moment she let out an angry roar and butted the tree with her snout, moving around it, breathing heavily through the nostrils.

 _Shit!_ Owen’s eye grew wide. “Change of plans,” he muttered quickly. “RUN!”

He grabbed Claire’s by the arm dragging her after him and then pushing her ahead of him through the tall grass.

 _Déjà vu_ , he thought. _This shit has got to stop happening_!  

“Car!” He barked when they burst back into the road and Claire faltered for a moment, uncertain. His walkie-talkie kept on crackling, and Owen reached blindly and turned it off before it got them both killed. The T-Rex did not fall far behind, breathing heavily into their backs. A time or two he even felt her graze the air near his shoulders, mere inches from actually sinking her teeth into him. 

He skidded to a halt and bumped into Claire when she stopped right in front of him all of sudden, nearly knocking both of them down on impact.

“What the—” Owen began, and then, “You’re kidding me, right?”

Their jeep was lying on the side, its hood half in the ditch and its back wheels up in the air, and beside it in the soft, rain-soaked earth were two deep footprints filling quickly with the rainwater. Even if they had enough strength between the two of them to pull the car out of the slick mud and back on the road – which he doubted they did, even without the pressure of having to do it in under two seconds – Owen didn’t think it’d go anywhere, if the way it was basically folded in two was any indication. 

The two of them span around when the T-Rex stepped onto the road, breathing hard. She did not seem too bothered by the weather, not even a little, her senses obviously as alert as ever. She spotted them and charged ahead, her eyes narrowed with fury.

“And here I thought we were off the menu,” Owen muttered just as Claire breathed out, “Oh, God.”

“Do you trust me?” He asked.

“What?”

The T-Rex opened her mouth, lunging at them as she craned her neck, going for the kill, her teeth snapping only half an inch from them just as Owen yanked Claire out of the beast’s reach. And the next moment they were sliding down the slope on the other side of the road, not even bothering to protect their faces from the twigs and leaves slapping their skin. And then they were rolling down, pressed against one another in the dark until his back connected painfully with a flat patch of ground and he hissed involuntarily, tightening his grip on Claire who landed on top of him, her face pressed into his chest. Somewhere above them, the T-Rex let out another roar, and another one, and then slowly stomped away, her gait seemingly much less heavy from the distance.  

They stayed still for a long moment, listening closely for any signs of pursuit, but there was nothing but rain and their heavy breathing, and what Claire thought was the screeching of Pteranodons somewhere far away, carried over by the wind.

“You okay?” Owen asked at last, his voice hoarse and raw, realizing not without surprise that he was still clutching the rifle in his hand.

“Yeah,” she breathed out, willing her fingers to let go of the fistfuls of his shirt.

They both looked up and then at each other again. “This was not on the docket, just FYI.” He told her solemnly. “Still bored with the office work?”

Claire chortled, which came out a tad too hysterical and high-pitched to her liking.

\---

The walk through the forest hadn’t been Claire’s idea of fun the first time around, 3-inch heels considered. Doing it in the freezing rainsorm when she couldn’t even see where she was supposed to put her feet was downright hellish. She clenched her teeth marching on behind Owen, ignoring the growing pain in her ankle and what she supposed were about a million mosquito bites. Her hair was plastered to her head, and her clothes clung uncomfortably to her body making her shiver all over with every gust of wind. Her feet sloshed around in her boots filled with water and God only knew what else, making it almost impossible not to trip all the goddamn time, practically making her regret the T-Rex didn’t get them – it would’ve probably been a lot less pathetic.

“So… where are we going, exactly?” She asked Owen’s back, straining her voice to outshout the sound of what went from torrential downpour to steady but heavy rain.

“Away from the T-Rex,” he responded, glancing briefly at her.

“And where’s that? Geographically speaking.”

“There,” he pointed straight ahead.

Claire stopped in her tracks. “In other words, you have no idea where we are or where we’re headed.”

“Well, my inbuilt GPS has been malfunctioning lately, and now it’s also wet.” He stopped too and turned to her.

“So maybe we should just wait—”

“For her to come back? For someone else to get hungry?”

“For the rain to stop! Instead of, I don’t know, getting even more lost.” As it turned out, angry did not sound impressive through chattering teeth.

“I didn’t ask you to tag along.”

“I didn’t ask you to come here!”

“Of course you didn’t. You were too busy crossing me out of your life. How’s that working out, by the way?”

“Not as well as I planned.”

She pushed past him, picking up speed. Because whatever. Because she didn’t really care. Because there had to be a road somewhere ahead. Because this stupid island wasn’t that big. Because she was cold and tired and she didn’t give a damn about running into something big and bad and dangerous at this point. She just wanted to be as far away from this island, from this life, from Owen ‘I’m-fucking-smarter-than-everyone-else’ Grady as she could. And she didn’t even know who she was angry at, him (for throwing her off-balance every bloody time) or herself (for allowing him to), except that she just _was_ because…. because…

Claire stopped short when the trees opened up and she was suddenly standing on the patch of land before several dark structures towering over her. She gulped the air, out of breath and so exhausted she was surprised she could still stand.  

“What’s wrong with your leg?” Owen asked when he finally caught up with her.

“What’s this?” Claire wondered under her breath at the same time, as if not hearing him at all.

He pushed his sopping wet hair out of his face and all but broke into a smile, his shoulders relaxing visibly – she couldn’t really see it so much as feel, his relief rolling off of him in waves.

“The raptors’ paddock.”

 _The raptors’ paddock_.

Her mind flashed back to _the_ night. To watching Owen talk to his raptors in that soothing voice she was sure could tame even the widest of animals. To watching Gray and Zach follow his every move in awe, their eyes wide with excitement, the fear of the previous hours not forgotten but pushed back for the time being. She could still feel her heart hammer in her chest at the thought of how insanely dangerous the idea of setting the raptors loose was, whatever the reason. How absolutely outrageous it would’ve been under any other circumstances.

But they were hopeless and desperate, and she mouthed _Be careful_ to him before steering the boys over to the truck, and he winked at her like it was an adventure, like they weren’t putting their lives on the line for something that only had half a chance at working.

Claire’s throat felt tight and she stepped back involuntarily, reaching for the safety of the shadows left behind as Owen stepped further forward, scanning what used to be his domain, and she wished she could read his face, and yet glad at the same time that she couldn’t see a damn thing.

The walk to his bungalow took twenty more minutes spent in silence, and she sighed audibly when first the round shape of his trailer and then the darker form of the bungalow stepped out of the darkness.

Owen headed for it without hesitation, finally slinging the rifle over his shoulder. Belatedly, he remembered to turn the walkie-talkie back on, and it instantly erupted with screeching and static, and Barry’s half pleading, half enraged, “— _not funny, Grady!_ ”

“Barry? Hey, I’m sorry—”

“ _Owen?! What the hell? What’s going on?!_ ”

 _That is one very loaded question_ , Owen thought. “We found the T-Rex. And then she did the Play Doh thing with our car.”

“ _What? Are you okay?”_ More crackling _. “Where are you, man? We were about the send out the search party._ ”

“My place. Claire’s with me.” He shot a quick look at her. “I’m going to bring her over to the resort now.”

“ _Better not_.” Barry’s voice faded out for a few moments before coming back, barely comprehensible. “ _The roads are flooded. We barely made it here ourselves, and it was hours ago._ ”

Claire grabbed Owen’s hand, pulling it closer to her face. “Is everyone okay?” She asked.

“ _Yeah, we’re good. But you better stay put until the storm has passed. If you get stuck somewhere, we won’t be able to come get you_.”

“That bad?” Owen reclaimed the walkie-talkie.

“ _It’ll probably be fine by morning_.”

 _Probably. By morning_. That was just terrific.

“You can’t be serious,” Claire breathed out, rubbing her forehead.

“Please, contain your excitement,” Owen snorted quietly, and she hoped Barry didn’t catch it.

She leaned in again. “Are you sure there’s no other way?”

“ _Sorry, Claire_.”

“Not unless you’re willing to swim,” he deadpanned. And then added louder to Barry, “Yeah, okay. Copy that.”

“ _And, Owen?_ ”

“Yeah?”

“ _Stay out of trouble_.”

He chuckled at that. The line went quiet. “A bit too late for that,” Claire heard him murmur, but she couldn’t tell if he meant the T-Rex, or her.

\---

Masrani’s initial tactics after the incident was to try and pin everything on Claire – because it was easy, because she was there the whole time, because, as a manager of her level, she could have and should have found a way to stop it from happening. Because they literally had no one else to go after.

Which did not work – even though she blamed herself to no end for what had happened on the island, and even though it was eating her up on the inside, she had no intention of paying for the decisions she didn’t make and the things she had no say in. So they changed their approach and chose to go after Simon Masrani instead. He was dead, and so was Vic Hoskins, and someone needed to be a scapegoat when Claire refused to accept that role. Or speak ill of the dead, for that matter.

The press was having a field day with the footage of Simon Masrani’s chopper hitting the aviary and going down in flames, of Claire standing before paddock 9 with nothing but red flare in her hand – the image that never ceased to transfix Owen. Back then, he was certain that she had signed her death sentence, and the feeling never quite went away, leaving him unnerved every time it popped up on the screen or in the newspaper – as if the whole thing wasn’t over yet. As if seeing it again could somehow change the outcome of what had already happened.

His own heroics had been mentioned in passing and then mostly discarded as a story not worth repeating twice - primarily because, try as they might, no one could turn his involvement with the incident into a show. The press labeled him as a hero and forgot about his existence because what fun was it to be a good guy? His face was recognizable enough for people to pause and stare at him in Costco or whisper not so conspicuously behind his back in Starbucks, but he was otherwise known as someone who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time – just like hundreds of other InGen and Masrani Global employees who carried no significant weight in the investigation. His ‘debriefing’ was quick and efficient, and he had a feeling they only heard what they wanted to hear, disregarding his attempts to defend Claire’s actions.

He was told to ‘stay put’ and that was the end of it.

Technically, he didn’t have to be a part of the press conferences, and he knew he had Claire to thank for using what little influence she still had and taking him off the witness list, but he’d pull on the goddamn suit anyway and tag along just so that she wouldn’t have to face those vultures alone.

They were leaving the Masrani Global headquarters one afternoon making their way through the crowd of spectators outside when someone pushed closer to them, shoved their microphone in Claire’s face and asked, “ _What does it feel like to have so many lives on your hands, Ms. Dearing?_ ”

Owen couldn’t recall how it happened, exactly, but the next moment his fist connected with the man’s face, making him let out a surprised yelp and drop the mic, staggering clumsily backwards. He didn’t do it just because of the question the guy asked – which was stupid and uncalled for, to begin with – but because of the look on her face. The look that made him see red.

“Stay away from her,” Owen growled, his finger in the man’s face, and steered her towards her car, feeling deep satisfaction for the first time in weeks.

And now she was standing in his living room with a very similar expression – like she wasn’t sure where she was or how she got there - and the only thing Owen could think of was that there was no one to punch this time.

He leaned the rifle against the wall and rolled his shoulders, his sore muscles protesting mercilessly at every movement he made. This was no how he imagined this day to unravel.

“Let me get you some towels.”

“Owen.”

“Just a sec.”

“No, you’re—you’re bleeding.”

“I’m… what?” He twisted around following her gaze, and a sharp, searing pain shot through his right shoulder blade as if his skin was ripped open, making him hiss through his teeth. “Shit.”

Craning his neck, he could see a ragged rip in his shirt, his mind flashing back to the T-Rex’s breath _this_ close to his body, to this exact sensation slashing through him when they landed gracelessly at the foot of the hill – the one he disregarded because they were kind of busy with the other stuff. The wound must have started to close while they walked, undisturbed, but now he could feel the dull ache building inside of it again, the warm feeling on his skin telling him that he was, in fact, bleeding.

The good news was, he’d had it worse. And it wasn’t deep, otherwise he’d notice it sooner. And the bad, well, it still sucked.

“Here, let me,” Claire stepped closer and helped him squirm his way out of his shirt (when Owen’s attempt to do it on his own failed miserably), careful to make sure not to touch the wound, her fingers numb and unresponsive. “How did that happen?”

“The T-Rex,” Owen grimaced. He caught her gaze and held it for a long moment. There was panic splashing at the bottom of her eyes mixed with a whole lot of panic. She looked pale and slightly greenish, although he attributed the latter to the fact that she wasn’t a fan of looking at shredded skin in general. “It’s fine, it’s just a scratch.”

She ignored his comment. “Where’s your medical bag?”

It obviously was a lost battle.

 _Kitchen. Cupboard over the sink_ , he told her, not having it in him to argue about something this trivial, not after they had just spent over four hours playing hide and seek with the T-Rex in the rain – now this is not the kind of thing many people could brag about. Besides, Claire didn’t look like someone anyone in their right mind would argue with even on the best of days, and so he shoved his petulant desire to protest just for the hell of it aside and decided to shut up for their mutual benefit, climbing silently onto the tall stool to give her a better access the wound.

The touch of her hands was gentle, her fingers cool against his hot skin. The peroxide on the open wound hurt though, and he sucked in a sharp breath and clenched his teeth, waiting for the burning sensation to recede to a dull ache somewhere inside of him, only exhaling slowly when Claire placed her hand on his shoulder to keep him steady.

It would’ve been awfully ironic to escape one of the deadliest dinosaurs of all time and then die from the blood infection, he though, hoping she assumed the stiffness of his body came from the pain and discomfort, and not from the touch of her palm that he was sure would leave a scorching mark on his skin. And then hoping that she would think this exact thing just so that he wouldn’t be the only one with the heart doing uneven flips in his chest and his mind running in circles around the fact that he probably hit his head pretty hard when they took that jump. Otherwise, how else could he explain thinking that being nearly bitten by a T-Rex was absolutely worth it?

“If I didn’t know any better,” Owen turned his head watching her out of the corner of his eye, “I’d almost think you actually care.”

“You don’t,” she glanced up briefly and pushed her hair behind her ear, “know any better.”

At that, Owen swiveled around on his stool, their faces suddenly on the same level and only half a foot apart.

Which was a bad decision because there was something big and hot bubbling up in his chest, and he wanted to be pissed off at how they’d left things, at how he couldn’t get her out of his goddamn mind for the reasons he didn’t understand. But he seemed to have forgotten about the faint dusting of freckles on her nose, about the way her eyes could be this surreal shade of aquamarine in certain light, and it was so hard to be mad when the only thing he could think of was pulling her close and finding out if her lips were as soft and warm as her remembered.

She could swallow him whole and spit out his bones, and he wouldn’t even care.

“Shocker, right? I mean, with our excellent communication…”

God, he was an idiot to think he could just breeze through this whole thing without ripping the old scars open all over again.

Slowly, Claire lowered her hands. “It doesn’t have to be this… complicated. Between us.”

“Complicated,” Owen echoed and chuckled ruefully. “It couldn’t be simpler even if we tried.”

\---

Claire stood under the blistering hot shower until she couldn’t take it anymore, until the steam reached her very bones, nearly melting them away, her mind just as a fogged as the small cubicle tucked in the back of the bungalow. She let the sharp spray beat on her skin as she scrubbed it raw, unable to get rid of the heavy scent of earth and jungle and the horror it entailed.

It was just in her head, that much she was certain of – kind of like the way she could smell gasoline on Owen for weeks after they had already returned home, his ruined clothes finding their end on the floor of the hotel bathroom in Costa Rica. She would still wake up sometimes to the sound of the rainforest in her head only realizing that all she could hear was the gentle lapping of the waves outside her window and nothing else. Nothing was chasing her anymore. No teeth. Some nights – most of them, actually – it would feel like a relief. But occasionally she’d still wish there was something more to her restlessness other than her troubled mind. Wouldn’t that make everything easier? 

Earlier, she fished her phone out of the pocket of her wet shorts – somehow still functioning even after the assault of the elements – and checked her voicemail sitting cross-legged on the bed while Owen took his turn in the shower.

There were several messages from Karen that started with “ _Hey, where are you? Call me!_ ” then went to “ _I swear to God, Claire--!_ ” and ended with “ _If you die in this fucking park, I’ll kill you!_ ” It was too late to call, so Claire sent her a quick text, “ _Sorry, got caught up in something—_ ” which wasn’t a lie “-- _Talk to you tomorrow. Tell the boys I love them_.” And then another one to Gray asking how his camping trip with his father went, longing for these simple things that kept her grounded, stable, present. Things that had nothing to do with the death and fear and guilt and uncertainty about where she wanted her life to go from now on.

There was a knock on the door, and then Owen’s arm appeared in the crack leaving a pile of folded clothes for her on the towel rack and disappearing just as quickly. The water started to run cold, and Claire finally forced herself to step out of the cubicle. She pulled on Owen’s shirt that was a few sizes too big and hung loosely on her frame, and then his boxers that she had to roll several time at the waist to keep them from sliding down her hips. The woman staring at her from the mirror looked more like a ghost than someone corporeal, and Claire wondered absently if maybe it was the new her, the real her, while the other her, the _before_ her was gone for good.

She’d spent most of her previous night staring at the ceiling of her suite – the same one she’d lived in before, watching the shadows move across its pale expanse and listening for the sounds she was no longer accustomed to, and all but jumping out of her skin every time something screeched or cried outside. Everything that she’d learned to tune out and ignore completely in the years of operating the park now carried nothing but threat. She was _this_ close to jumping into the helicopter – and okay, she didn’t know how to fly it, but how hard could it be, really? – and going back home and telling the Masrani Global Corporation to go screw themselves and leave her the hell out of this, her fingers clutching her covers so tight it hurt.

She hoped the exhaustion would send her in deep, dreamless slumber – the way it would sometimes happen when she’d push herself to the limit, often on purpose, forcing her body to go into a defense mode and just let her rest. She hoped that not being alone, that having Owen, of all people, sleep just across the room (“ _I am not going to kick you out of your own bed” – “Fine, then we’ll both sleep on the couch. Now,_ that _would be interesting_ ”) would have a soothing effect on her.

Instead, her mind sunk straight into that blackness of her memories that felt like a trap, like nothingness, like a place made entirely of fear. She’d always wondered if this was the place she’d stay forever if she died in her sleep, and that thought alone would make her too scared to go to bed for days on end, until she couldn’t take it anymore. _Not again, not again, not again_ …

When Owen jolted awake a few hours later, she was sitting by the wall with her knees pressed to her chest, staring sightlessly into space. He tumbled off the couch and was crouching beside her in two seconds flat.

“Claire? Hey…” She was shaking all over when he reached reluctantly for her, unsure of what to do, what to say. Wasn’t even sure she was fully awake. “Claire.” Her eyes, when she turned to him, were huge and dark. “Come here.”

Owen tugged at her shoulders, making her let go of her knees, pulling her close. “Shhh,” he brushed his lips to her hair and she twined her arms around his neck, her heart beating frantically against his chest. “It’s okay.” He pulled back and cupped her cheek in his palm, her skin ice-cold against his, turning her face to his, his thumb running soothingly over her cheekbone. “Look at me. Everything is okay.”

Slowly, Claire nodded, her lips trembling slightly.

Then her gaze shifted over Owen’s shoulder, and she started to scream.

**To be continued...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's a bit short(ish), but I've got some fun stuff planned for the next couple of chapters, so I had to get some things out of the way first :)
> 
> As always, comments are welcome! 
> 
> (Only 1038 days will Jurassic World 2!)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thank you all for the feedback! You guys are the best!  
> Second - gosh, this thing is totally getting out of my control O.o I swear, it has a life of its own.

It happened like that – she had a nightmare, or she thought she had a nightmare, or maybe she wasn’t even asleep and her mind simply went into that painful, torturous cycling when it would keep on replaying one of her awful memories over and over, driving Claire insane, making it impossible to keep her eyes shut even for a minute. Making her feel like she was dying more often than not. And so she couldn’t stay in that bed any longer, couldn’t stay still, couldn’t think, couldn’t keep herself from falling apart. There were _teeth-death-blood_ everywhere around her accompanied by the awful chewing noises and the sound of crushing bones…   

Way before she quit her sessions with him, Claire’s therapist went into a long speech about how most of the time, panic attacks were an inevitable result of any traumatic experience. Something a person’s mind used to cope with the things it couldn’t process otherwise due to their extreme and brutal nature. He explained how they were natural and unavoidable, and most likely prone to going away with time, and so on, and so forth.

She wished she could make him live through one of her nights, and see if he would use the words _natural_ and _unavoidable_ ever again.

If this was healing, she wanted no part of it.

At least that was what she thought as she sat on the floor of Owen’s bungalow with her back pressing into the cool wooden wall, her fingers digging into the skin of her arms clutched tight around her knees while, even with her eyes open, she could see nothing but blackness and feel nothing but suffocating fear. It was cold, so cold she felt numb all over, and she could not, for the life of her, remember how she even got there.

She couldn’t recall how Owen got there either, except the next thing she knew was that she was holding on to him for dear life because he was solid and warm and so, so alive, and she needed him to pull her out of this void. She felt him stroke her back and whisper something to her, the meaning of the words not as important as his soft, soothing voice. And everything was fine, and all was right in the world.

She pressed her cheek into his shoulder--

And then suddenly someone was screaming, and it took Claire forever to realize that it was her.

Something was outside the bungalow. Something was looking in through the window. Grey skin. Yellow lizard eye. Teeth. _More teeth_. So many teeth. Even through the rain, she heard hasty scrape of the claws on the wood floorboards of the porch. More shrieking – not hers this time. She’d heard it before. Hell, she could hear it all the time, the animals _talking_ to one another, but it was closer now.

There was something _right outside_ the bungalow. The thought knocked all air out of her lungs.

“Claire?”

Owen was looking wildly from her face and over his shoulder and then at her again.

“What is it? Claire, look at me!”

“Something,” she muttered, her breath short and shallow like she’d just run a marathon. “An eye. There was an eye. There’s something out there.”

“What?”

“I don’t know.” _Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God_. “It had teeth.”

To Owen’s credit, he didn’t say it was nothing, didn’t brush it off, didn’t make her feel crazy – because she was good at doing it to herself just fine, no help required. Instead, he was up on his feet in two seconds flat, his eyes scanning the small space, his hand reaching for the tranq rifle, then the gun – because you could never be too safe or too cautious here.

He crossed the room briskly and peered out the rain-stained window, and then instructed her in a low, firm voice, “Stay here.”

Oh, hell no!

Claire sprung up from the floor. _Run, run, run!_

“No one is staying here.”

She grabbed her phone from the nightstand, then the car keys from the counter where she’d spotted them earlier. She flew past Owen and his _What the--?_ face, and then there was cold rain on her skin again, and wet grass under her feet as she stormed towards his car parked behind the bungalow, ignoring the sharp pain in her ankle. Get out of here, she needed to get out of here now.  

“Claire!”

She could hear Owen curse under his breath as he hopped down the porch steps, both of them soaked through in a matter of seconds.

“Get in the car, we’re going back to the resort!”

“What the hell…? Wait!” More cursing, as he hit the gravel patch, its stones digging painfully into the soles of his feet. “Can you wait a second?” 

Claire whirled around, “Get in the goddamn car!” before yanking the driver’s door open.

Her fingers shook when she fumbled with the keys trying to find the right one (what did he need seven keys for? She was fairly certain there was no lock on the bungalow door to begin with), her body running on nothing but pure adrenaline.

 _Eyes. Teeth. Claws. Blood_.

Owen climbed into the passenger seat, more pissed than confused, from the looks of it. “Now what?” He asked with exasperation.

Without another word, Claire hit the gas.

Despite the late hour, the lights in the hotel lobby were on when she brought the car to a screeching halt in front of the Hilton’s entrance. Inside, Barry, Lowery, a tech guy from the Control Room and a woman working for InGen were lounging on the leather couches.

They all fell silent in mid-sentence when she marched in leaving puddles of water on the marble floor followed closely by Owen who looked like he was dealing with a child throwing a tantrum, which set her teeth on edge even more. _He_ was the one living in basically a shack. _He_ was the one who was about to go after something deadly in the middle of the night. Alone! He did not get to act like she was the unreasonable one.

“Okay. We’re here. Are you happy now?” Owen asked throwing his hands into the air.

Barry lowered his beer bottle, regarding them both with a mixture of curiosity and concern. Although mostly concern, Claire noted.

Lowery gave them a baffled once-over, taking in Owen’s attire of sweatpants and unbuttoned undershirt, and her – well, again, _Owen’s_ – faded and overstretched t-shirt that had Led Zeppelin written across the chest in wobbly letters and striped boxers, his eyebrows all but disappearing in his hairline.

“Nice—” he started.

“Don’t!” She warned him in a low voice that to her own ears sounded more like a growl, and turned around, her finger pointing at Owen’s chest. “And you… Everyone is staying _here_ , Mr. Grady. If you have a death wish, fine! But not on my watch.”

“If _I_ have a death wish?!” Owen snapped. “ _You_ just nearly killed us both! _What was that?!_ ”

“Your… accommodation of choice is not meeting the safety regulations of this island. Not when there’s… I-don’t-even-know- _what_ running around.”

“Geez, do you have to talk like you’re reading a contract?” He rolled his eyes.

“Do you have to act like you’re 5?” She retorted, growing somewhat aware of four pairs of eyes watching them with what she hoped was something other than utter and pure shock.

“My ‘accommodation’, as you call it, worked fine for everyone for years.”

“This is not a negotiation.” Claire cut him off, her chin tipped up. “I am not using the words ‘casualty’ or ‘eventuality’ in any of my reports ever again. Am I making myself clear?”

He stepped closer, his eyes hard and his voice ringing with carefully controlled anger. “It could’ve been Blue out there.” He pointed in the general direction of the exit. “You know that, right?”

“It could’ve been _anything_.”

Owen just stared her down, his lips pursed tight, and when he didn’t respond, Claire turned on her heels and hobbled towards the elevators.

Lowery opened his mouth to ask something, but Owen just shook his head. _Don’t_.

Without a word, Barry handed him his beer.

\---

_Come to Jurassic World! Your life will never be the same again!_

The old slogan from the early days of the park – the one they never actually used after the marketing team discarded it as too cheesy, and it was hard to disagree with that verdict – popped up in Claire’s head like a jack-in-the-box, hitting her with an almost prophetic accuracy. 

Never again, indeed. Yes, she would have rather chosen to end up with a handful of overexposed photographs and meaningless souvenirs than overwhelming fear etched into her bones, but hey, excitement they promised and excitement she got. So what if it wasn’t exactly what she’d expected? The island kept its word. Granted, PTSD was a part of the deal, but hey! Maybe the next time she wouldn’t skip the fine print in the contract.

Claire sunk heavily onto the edge of her bed and buried her face in her hands, her chest too tight to inhale properly, her lungs too small. The muscles in her arms still quivered after gripping the steering wheel so tight her knuckles went white as the ground kept on being washed from under the jeep, and the reality of what she just did finally began to sink in. How they didn’t end up in a ditch was beyond her.

Thirty six hours. She’d come back thirty six hours ago, and it was all it took for her mind to overload on crazy for the next decade. 

She pushed her fingers through her hair, her eyes catching sight of a two-inch pale scar on the inside on her arm just below the elbow where a broken piece of glass slashed her skin when Echo crashed into the vet vehicle, shattering the driver’s window and stealing about 10 years of Claire’s life. The only physical mark – save for the blisters on her feet – the incident left on her. And who was counting the ones left on her psych?

There was a knock on the door, and she startled. Badly. Because people didn’t exactly tend to spread the joy and happiness in the middle of the night – those things could usually wait till the morning. Which meant they probably had another crisis on their hands. Which meant—

She pulled the door open, half ready for whatever might come, half wondering if she was allowed to call in sick-missing-dead if she was, technically, the one in charge of this place.

The crisis went by the name Owen Grady, and he was still wearing the frown from half an hour ago when they had that spectacular showdown in front of the people Claire would’ve preferred not to see her wearing someone else’s clothes and looking like a drowned cat. He did look like he was ready for another round, and she squared her shoulders, mentally preparing to drop dead if he did, in fact, come to pick up where they left off.    

“Can I help you, Mr. Grady?” She asked.

It was supposed to sound firm and irritated, but her voice cracked, and it came out quiet and weary instead. In her mind’s eye, she could still see the way he looked at her seconds before she pulled the _complicated_ card on him – the winner of all things cliché – and it made her weak in the knees all over again.

Owen tossed a bag of frozen beans at her. “For your foot. If you want to be able to walk tomorrow.”

He looked like he was going add something else, but then he simply turned around and walked away before Claire even remembered how to say thank you. She closed the door and leaned her forehead against it, taking small, shallow breathes until the empty hole in her chest that threatened to suck her in started to close, her fingers crutching the frozen beans to her chest. This day needed to end already, one way or the other.

She climbed into the bed without changing into her own clothes.

\---

Owen flopped down onto the bed, hissing through his teeth when sharp pain shot through his shoulder blade and into his back. It was hard to believe that the T-Rex thing happened mere hours ago. It felt like another lifetime. He ran a tired hand down his face, wishing he could scrub his mind clean just as easily.  A blank page. A clean slate. Whatever. Wouldn’t it be just terrific?

The offer from InGen came in two months ago.

After he had told them _No_ , and then _No way in hell_ , and then _Are you fucking deaf?_ (because one could only keep his cool for so long) to their proposal to return to the island and help them take care of the ‘aftermath of the incident’ – which made him laugh bitterly every time – they changed their tactics and decided to use another approach. Or maybe they gave up, more like it. Not that he cared.   

He was not going back. He was not going back because he knew it would be only a beginning before he was sucked into the whole park affair all over again, and the history had already repeated itself once. He was not going to be a part of it again, not even for Blue, and if he could beat the truth about the wrongness of this idea into at least one of the big, thick heads he was dealing with, he’d do so without thinking twice. It would probably cost him his job, at best, or result in a lawsuit, at worst, but, God help him, it would be worth it.

He knew it wouldn’t work though, so he didn’t bother trying, sticking to his _Why don’t you shove your offer you know where?_ decision to steer clear of Isla Nublar.  

And then they asked him to go to New York. A position in security, they said. No dinosaurs involved, which was supposed to be a joke but it made his stomach turn. Because he would be less of a sore thumb on the East Coast where his face didn’t make Global News. Because they couldn’t fire him – Claire told him as much at dinner once after flipping through his contract – but they still had to do something with him, and this something was not likely to happen in California.

It was a tough call, all things considered. ‘All things’ being the beach, exceptional selection of margaritas in his local bar, and his miserable pining for the woman who made it perfectly clear she was better off without him. The most miserable pining in the history of anything ever, perhaps. Because, moron that he was, he was still hoping for… something. Anything. For a miracle, if you please. Because he missed her so bad it hurt.

It was tempting, oh so tempting to say no and brace himself for the pitiful existence he had settled into, the highlight of which was catching an occasional glimpse of Claire Dearing looking her perfect stone-cold Ice Queen self from fifty feet away. He might have as well changed his middle name to Pathetic so that he could be living up to at least something. 

And then he actually ran into Claire in the Masrani Global headquarters. Surprisingly, not on purpose. Small world, huh?

“Owen,” she nodded, smiling politely. It had been almost a month since the last time he saw her, about four since she fell asleep on the couch with her head on his shoulder. He’d rather she sucker-punched him or something. He'd rather she called him Mr. Grady.

He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his pants, ignoring about two hundred people milling around them, talking, laughing, yelling into their phones, texting, shuffling through piles of paper, and gave her a humorless smirk.

“So, this is how it’s going to be from now?”

She tilted her head slightly, her face an unreadable mask he knew he couldn’t break through. Not when she didn’t want him to. If she felt as awkward and uncomfortable as he did, she didn't show it. 

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”

To be fair, he wanted to quit. He wanted to quit the moment he set his foot on the US soil, and then again and again every time somebody-or-another mentioned Isla Nubar in his presence, but for all their flaws, InGen wasn’t stingy, and Owen was getting tired of couch-surfing. They weren’t asking him to sell his soul, for crying out loud. And he could really use their paycheck that had more digits than he could ask for elsewhere.

_“I’m not sure I understand what you mean.”_

He called them later that day and said yes, he’d be beyond ecstatic to relocate _wherever_. Over and out.

He could be in New York right now. He could be literally anywhere, for that matter. So what the hell was he doing here, on this godforsaken island staring at a generic ceiling in this generic room when his brain wanted to claw its way out of his head?

\---

“… _but then we went to the game_ ,” Gray kept on bubbling in her ear just as the elevator doors slid open and Claire stepped into the lower level of the Innovation Center, its cool air making her skin prickle with goosebumps. “ _And you know how Zach can be_ —”

“ _Shut it_ ,” she heard Zach’s muffled voice in the background.

“ _So anyway, I caught the ball. It was so cool! I mean, I wish mom was there. And you, too_.”

“Sounds like fun,” Claire couldn’t help breaking into a smile.

“ _Anyone could catch that ball_. “

Man, she could hear Zach roll his eyes.

“ _You didn’t_ ,” Gray pointed out. “ _So, how’s the park, Aunt Claire? I can’t believe you’re actually there again._ ”

 _Neither can I_ , Claire thought. There was a pause, like he was waiting for her reassurance, for some kind of light off-hand comment. She had none.

The doors to the lab swished open for her.

“It’s…. messy,” she admitted honestly. Which was one way to put it. Another would be disastrous, but she refused to admit it even to herself. Most of the time. “We’re trying to make the remaining animals as comfortable as possible.” By letting them chase us all over the place. “But it’s—it’s good. It’s a lot of work, but it’s--”

“ _The right thing to do, I know. Hey, would you tell Owen I said hi?_ ”

 _Oh, crap_.

“S-sure.” She could do that. Maybe. Sometime.

“ _Gray, honey, can I have a word with Aunt Claire?_ ” Karen’s voice swooped in, as she reclaimed the phone. Apparently. “ _Owen?_ ” She hissed in a few seconds, which, Claire guessed, was as long as it took her sister to move to another room. “ _THE Owen? Your couch buddy Owen?_ ”

“You need to stop calling him that,” Claire sighed.

“ _The ‘There’s-nothing-to-talk-about’ Owen?_ ” Karen went on.

“If he ever decides to change his name to something more poetic, I’ll let him know you have some interesting ideas.” She promised. “And there _is_ nothing to talk about.”

“ _You didn’t tell me-- Wait, is this why you went back to that place?_ ”

“What?! No! God, Karen.”

“ _Don’t you_ God, Karen _me. You haven’t seen yourself when you two_ —”

“Don’t say ‘broke up’. We didn’t break up. There was nothing to break up.”

“ _Parted your ways. Whatever. Claire_ …”

“Look, I had no idea he’d be here.” She sighed and rubbed her forehead. “We’re … working together. I mean, not ‘together’ together...” Geez, it sounded even worse when she said it out loud. “It’s just a job.”

“ _Oh. Okay, good. So, how’s the ‘job’?_ ”

“You can be such an ass.”

“ _Come on, give me something_.”

“Well, the job’s good. We’ve located most of the species. The cleanup of the resort is going well, we’re actually a bit ahead of our schedule. We’re reinforcing some of the paddocks—”

“ _And you’re calling_ me _an ass?_ ” Karen sighed, and Claire could easily picture her pacing the kitchen. “ _Seriously, Claire, are you okay?_ ”

Claire looked at the broken glass at her feet, at the empty cupboards lining up the walls, their doors ajar, at the crumpled paper and debris and the broken and overturned furniture. Her mind tried to piece it together with the image from the days when the place was as clean and immaculate as an operating room, but it didn’t click. 

“Sure, of course I am,” she lied, saddened mostly by how easy it was becoming. Smile, nod, and say what they want to hear.

“ _Okay_.” Karen didn’t sound convinced, but she didn’t push either. “ _We miss you_.”

“I miss you, too.” The sound of the footsteps in the corridor behind her made Claire turn around. She spotted Owen heading towards her, peeking into the empty rooms. He paused when their eyes met, and she waved him in. “Gotta go. Call you later, okay?”

Inhale. Exhale.

“Lowery saw you headed this way,” Owen said without a greeting.

“Yeah, I was just…” She looked around the place, running her fingers through her hair. “I have no idea why I came here,” she admitted. Her eyes slid past the open incubators and turned off embryo chambers. If the Main Street looked sad, this place looked downright devastating.

Owen followed her gaze, then nodded as though he could see right through her vague reasoning. He cleared his throat.

“We’re going to bring the Apatosauruses in, check how the invisible fences are working before we start herding the other species back. In case there’s a problem.” And explained, “They’re the most docile ones.” His voice was steady and all business, like he was giving a report in front of the class or something, which sounded ridiculous and odd, even in given circumstances.  

“Oh, okay. Good. Great.” Claire sorted through her mental itinerary for the day. Call Karen – check! Tell Lowery to start working on the system that powered the T-Rex’s paddock – better do it now. Conference call with Masrani Global – could they just shoot her instead? Get Starbucks – off the agenda for the next month or so. She could pretty much kill for a double latte at this point. Maybe that was the reason the T-Rex had anger management issues – she wasn’t vicious, she just wasn’t properly caffeinated. And it wasn’t like the coffee machine in the hotel kitchen was bad-- “I’ll clear it with the techs.”

“Just that sector in the north of the valley.”

“Sure.” She typed a quick reminder into her phone.

“Thanks.” Owen looked around the lab, taking in the mess – much like she did before he showed up.

This place gave him creeps. Although, what bothered him most was the fact that Dr. Wu hadn’t been held accountable for anything that happened at the park, which was baffling, to say the least, especially after the shit storm Claire had been put through. Wu stayed on the sidelines of the Indominus-Rex _incident_ \- InGen went out of their way to steer the media’s attention away from him. He claimed following Simon Masrani’s orders to the word, insisted on warning him about the possible consequences of altering and mixing up the DNA of different species, which basically made him as much a victim as everyone else.

As far as Owen was aware, the man was still employed with Masrani Global. They still owned the modified DNA codes for whatever he made up in his lab, and it made him sick to his stomach.

“Are they really planning to reopen?” He asked, his forehead creased.

Claire let out an exasperated half-sigh, half-snort. “I don’t know. I told them – explicitly – what I think about this idea. Even if they do, I’m not sure they’d want to share their plans with me anytime soon.”

He did not doubt that. He’d been in the room when the big heads of Masrani Global first told Claire that they weren’t done with the park for good, and he had never been happier not to be on the receiving end of her fury. He thought she’d bite their heads off.

He felt the corner of his mouth tug up ever so slightly at the memory. She was the force to be reckoned with.

“Look, about the other night…” Owen began.

“I’m sorry,” Claire turned to him. “I shouldn’t have… We both know you can take care of yourself, and it’s not my place--”

“No, it’s fine.” He shrugged. “You’re right, it’s safer that way. They’ve got more beer here than my fridge can fit. Also, cable TV.” And then, “Besides, we wouldn’t want you writing any more sad reports. Another death and this island is doomed, right?”

His comment took her aback. “If you really think I give a damn about this, you’re an idiot.” She shook her head.

“So what should I think?”

Claire’s stomach coiled. It would’ve been so much easier if he was mad at her, if her hated her for what she had done – _that_ she could handle. Instead, he looked hurt and confused, like she’d kicked him when he was already down (which, in a way, was exactly what had happened). Maybe if he resented her as much as she resented herself, she’d find it easier to live with her mistakes.

Suddenly, standing in this ruined room among the _what-ifs_ and _maybes_ and best intentions that led to catastrophic results seemed like a perfect metaphor for their damaged lives and a torn apart relationship. The unnecessary bright lights and painfully white walls felt like they were closing in on her, and she couldn’t take it anymore.

“I panicked,” Claire let out a shaky breath, hoping her voice didn’t sound as small and desperate and pleading as she thought it did. She bit her lip. “I got scared and I panicked. Everything was getting better, and I didn’t know if it actually _was_ getting better, or if I was just using you as a crutch instead of… instead of coping.”

“So you decided to stop talking to me.” Owen let out a short bark of a laugh, bitter and hard. “You wouldn’t even _look_ at me, for Christ’s sake!”

“I thought I was doing us both a favor, giving us a chance to deal with…. everything in a healthy way.” She cringed at how absolutely absurd it sounded outside of her head, of how stupid this idea really was.

“I didn’t need any favors, Claire. I needed _you_.” He retorted. “I didn’t care if you wanted to use me as a crutch, or a coffee table. You could’ve talked to me. If you needed space, or time, or whatever - great! I’d’ve given you all the space and time in the world. You could’ve just told me so.”

“I didn’t know how,” she whispered, which was true, very much so.

She did want to talk to him, but she knew that if she tried, she would have never asked him for space or time - she’d fucking ask him to ditch the couch and move his stuff to her bedroom. She’d ask him to move in forever, add his name to the answering machine and get a puppy. And then it would all probably go spectacularly wrong – she did not have a problem imagining _that_ – so here they were, back to square one.

“Or you could’ve told me to get lost.” Owen pointed out. “Anything, really. Instead, you started acting like I didn’t even exist. I had no idea what happened. Did I say something? Did I do something wrong? Did I delete your favorite TV show off the DVR?”

“You couldn’t seriously—”

“What else were you expecting me to think?” He huffed. “You don’t pick up your phone. You go out of your way to avoid me. You make a damn good impression of having moved on. And then you come here and we’re back to ‘Mr. Grady’. And here I was thinking we’ve already moved past this bullshit.” He exhaled and shook his head. “So, how exactly was I supposed to take it?”

He had a point – she was good! Claire Dearing, ladies and gentlemen, an expert in royally screwing up. It took her so long to convince herself that they were never meant to be that she forgot sometimes that she didn’t even try.

Claire’s shoulders slumped. “I never meant it to end like this.” Her voice dropped. “I just… I needed to figure some things out. I had no idea who I even was without you, or who I’d be if you decided you’ve had enough of playing house with me. I was a mess and--”

“But you were _my_ mess.” He interrupted her. “I wanted you to be my mess. No matter what.” They looked at each other for a while. “You didn’t have to reciprocate the feeling. You didn’t owe me a damn thing. But, Jesus, you could’ve at least been honest about it.”

“It wasn’t that. I did…”  She closed her eyes for a moment. “I’m sorry, Owen. I really _am_ very sorry. I was scared out of my mind of being so dependent on you, or anyone else. I know it’s an awful excuse, and I don’t have a better one, but if I had a chance to start over and do it again…” She trailed off helplessly.

“Well, that’s not how the things work, do they?” Owen rubbed his eyes, his voice and everything about him world-weary. “Look, it doesn’t matter now. We’re good, okay? You’re doing your thing, and I’m doing mine – here, at the park, I mean. And this is probably not the time or the place—”

They both turned to the sound of someone clearing their throat to find Barry standing in the doorway, his gaze darting quizzically from one to another.

“Am I interrupting something?” He asked if a little uncertainly.

“No,” Claire took a step back.

“Not at all,” Owen breathed out.

“What is it?”

Unconvinced, Barry gave each of them another funny look, then composed himself, his back going visibly straight.

“There’s something you should see.”

The first thing Claire thought when they left the cool confines of the Innovation Center and circled around the bleachers by the Mosasaurus’s pool in the blindingly bright sun was that there wasn’t supposed to be a stone sculpture on the golf course. Sure, there were plenty of them on the Main Street and placed strategically throughout the park near some of the attractions, and most of them would have to be taken down and removed, but why would anyone leave one in the middle of—

She nearly tripped over her own feet when she realized it wasn’t a sculpture but a real, honest to God Triceratops grazing the no longer immaculately cut grass of the golf course lawn, not particularly bothered by the audience – an InGen man and a girl who mostly worked with Dr. Maxwell, both of whom watched her in awe.

Barry smiled a little, noticing Claire’s reaction. “She’s one of the babies from the petting zoo,” he explained, answering one of maybe million questions floating in her head. “Apparently, she decided to stop by for lunch. We found her here… Just like that.”

She didn’t look like a baby to Claire, more like a hippo, or a small elephant, her massive horns swaying slightly as she chewed, then dipped her head to pull a mouthful of leaves from the nearest bush, and chewed some more. The horns that, without a doubt, made her almost as dangerous as any of the carnivore species on the island had she decided that she’d had enough of unwanted attention.

If any of this crossed Owen’s mind, he didn’t take it seriously. He simply leaned his rifle against the low fence separating the lawn from the footpath and leaped over it with ease, his eyes never leaving the Triceratops. Claire never saw him smile like that – like all of a sudden it was Charismas and his birthday rolled into one.

“Hey there,” he crooned softly, stepping closer to the dinosaur, his arm outstretched. “Good girl.”

Barry followed him over the fence, moving with the similar ease of familiarity with the situation.

The dinosaur turned to Owen, sniffing the air cautiously as he approached her. She huffed loudly, then sneezed, making Claire tense in her spot, then started grazing again, ignoring both men entirely.

“Good girl,” Owen repeated in a soft voice as he ran his hand down her shoulder. “Are you lost? Or did you just want some company?”

“We can place her with the grown-ups when we get them sorted out.” Barry suggested, looking at him over the animal’s back as his hand ran over her frill.

Owen nodded. “Yeah, it’d be good for her.” He looked at Claire then with that devilish twinkle in his eyes she knew meant trouble and beaconed at her to come over. “Wanna say hi?”

 _No way_ , she shook her head vigorously. “I’m good.”

“Come on, Claire. She’s not gonna bite.”

 _Really not the point_ , Claire thought.

Yet, she found her legs moving forward – whether because of the memory of the dying Apatosaurus that sprung up in her mind, tainted with regret of looking at those magnificent creatures for years and not really _seeing_ them, or because of the ridiculously gleeful look on Owen’s face that made everything inside of her sing, Claire wasn’t sure. To be fair, she still hadn’t recovered from her last encounter with the dinosaur. From all of them actually. (Note to self – piling up traumatic experiences without working through them in the process probably wasn’t a good idea).

But before she knew it, there was grass underneath her feet and a giant beast chewing noisily only an arm’s length from her. The Triceratops seemed to be even bigger up close she didn’t want to imagine what the adult species looked like, her heart fluttering somewhere in her throat as she eyed the animal’s impressive horns, trying to recall how fast they could run.

Owen took her hand and placed it on the Triceratops’s back, and Claire felt her lips curve into a smile. The skin under her palm was soft, leathery and warm as the animal’s breathing and chewing vibrated into her body. She put her other hand on the dinosaur’s neck, stiffening involuntarily when she turned her head to reach for whatever grass she found more appealing.

“See?” Owen said quietly next to her. “Not scary at all.” His voice was so full of affection it all but took Claire’s breath away. “She just wants to make some friends.”

She stroked the animal’s side, not even bothering to hold back her own _Oh, my God, I can’t believe it’s happening_ grin, trying to pretend the Triceratops was as harmless as an oversized puppy. What would she do if Claire scratched her behind her ears? Roll over and ask for a belly rub? Probably better not check this one out for sure.

Until Owen’s soothing voice next to her was too much. The weight of the words left unsaid between them was pressing down on her, and _We’re good_ wasn’t good enough, and _You’re doing your thing, and I’m doing mine_ wasn’t going to cut it, not by a mile.

“Do you still want it?” She asked softly.

“What?”

Claire looked up. “Do you still want me to be your mess?”

He paused, blinked.

She might have as well told him she was an alien or something, and he wouldn’t have been more shocked, his expression confused and guarded, making her feel a pang of guilt over being at least partly responsible for his trust issues. And it wasn’t like Claire actually expected him to laugh in her face, but she wouldn’t have blamed him if he did.

 _Say something, say something, say something. Anything_.

There were 30 people on this island, just under 5 million in Costa Rica, about 7 billion in the world, but in the moment, it was just the two of them, and—

“Hey, Owen!”

Right. Other people. Bad timing. Great, just great.

Claire dropped her hands from the Triceratops’s back, and they both turned to find Lowery standing on the sidewalk, eyeing the dinosaur as suspiciously as she did a few minutes ago, his gaze darting quickly between the animal and Owen. And there was nothing she wanted more than to see him and Barry get Lowery to pet a dinosaur. Well, almost nothing.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“We’ve got something.”

Behind her, Claire heard Owen chuckle. “We’ve got something, too.” He rubbed the animal’s side with enough fondness to make her wonder if he was planning to take her home and turn her into a pet. Maybe teach her a few tricks, like ‘Sit’ and ‘Fetch’ and ‘Eat the mailman’.

“Yeah, I see that. It’s just… one of the surveillance cameras caught... well, we’re not sure what, but it looked very much like a raptor.” 

**To be continued...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope the ending wasn't too anti-climatic. As always, comments are welcome! Agh, gotta go keep on writing!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your comments, folks! :D I can't even begin to express how much I appreciate them!
> 
> Man, I need a life! But until then - it's all about Clawen! And speaking of which... dig in!

In the Control Room, Owen watched the same 5-second black and white grainy clip at least 15 times before he actually managed to convince himself that what he was seeing was real. Granted, the angle was bad, and the quality of the feed was beyond awful, and the animal – Blue? Could it really be Blue? – pretty much blended with the lush greenery as it darted from the clearing and into the jungle, only briefly pausing to poke its head from out of the tall grass before disappearing from the view.

It could’ve been Blue, he guessed. Or it could’ve also been a smaller Gallimimus. Now that all the species were free to roam wherever, it was hard to track their migration patterns that even the vets described as ‘random’. Apparently, the smaller dinosaurs tended to steer clear of the T-Rex for obvious reasons, while the Apatosauruses and the Triceratopses simply moved around in search of the food that appealed to them the most. Which was not helping the case, not even a little.

“Is this the only angle?” Owen asked when his eyes started to hurt from peering at the screen without blinking as if he was trying to take the image apart pixel by pixel in desperate hope that it would help him find the answers.

Lowery’s fingers ran over the keyboard. “Afraid so,” he said after half a minute. “There’s a couple of other cameras in the area, but they didn’t capture anything.”

“Where is this?” Claire asked, her eyes also glued to the sector of the screen where the grainy image was frozen on the dinosaur’s head peeking from between the ferns, its head turned away from the camera.

Lowery pushed his glasses up his nose. “Paddock 11.”

Slowly, Claire shifted her gaze to him, feeling a twist in her stomach as a chill ran down her spine. The I-Rex’s paddock. She would never not feel primitive fear whenever she’d so much as think about it, she knew that for sure, and the realization unnerved her. Not because it was particularly profound – she was well familiar with the basics of this mind game, been playing it long enough to learn its rules and loopholes – but because it finally struck her that the park would never let her go. Not completely. There would always be something left in the back of her mind, locked away in the farthest corner of her memory, waiting to be set free.

It was just an empty cage now, Claire reminded herself, but it did nothing to help her shake off the uneasy feeling she’d had ever since she’d first caught the Indominus – a creature barely 2 feet tall back then – watching her from behind the trees without blinking. She had never been more grateful to have the bulletproof glass between her and a dinosaur ever in her life. Even now, years later, she could still feel her skin crawl.

She’d spent months trying to distance herself from the park and everything that had happened here, and she even almost managed to start believing it was working, but right now, she couldn’t help feeling like she’d never actually left.

“When did it happen?” Owen asked.

Lowery checked the time stamp. “About 5 hours ago,” he replied, and added, “We mostly keep an eye on the feeds covering the areas where someone actually works. Just in case, you know. No one’s been doing anything anywhere near Paddock 11 though, so…” He trailed off.

The elevator doors slid open behind them and Barry walked in, his jaw set tight.

Owen glanced over his shoulder and asked Lowery to play the clip again. “What do you think?” He muttered without looking at Barry, his eyes fixed on the goddamn pixels again.

Barry shook his head. “Looking like this, it can be anything.”

“On this island? Literally so,” Lowery mumbled.

Owen nodded, although it was more of an acknowledgement than an actual agreement. He wanted to believe that it was Blue, but it did not necessarily make it true.

“I’m going there.”

“Not alone, you are not,” Claire’s head perked up. Not a suggestion - an order.

“I’ll come with,” Barry stepped in before Owen had a chance to object.

“It’s been five hours,” she noted – a voice of reason.

Owen shrugged. “Then it won’t take long.” He leaned over Lowery’s workstation. “Are there any animals in the area?”

Lowery typed some more, then reported, “None that have the implants.”

Which didn’t mean much. He knew that some of those implants needed to be fixed – the animals tended to short them easily when they got into a tussle with one another over the territory or food. Hell, for all he knew, some might have clawed theirs out the way the I-Rex did – he wouldn’t put it past them, not after he’d witnessed a remarkable level of intelligence they possessed. But it also didn’t mean Blue wasn’t still there, even five hour later. The good news was that the T-Rex seemed to have been at least 3 miles away from Paddock 11, and right now, it was the only thing he needed to know.

He paused for a moment, catching Claire’s eyes, tempted for just a heartbeat to forget about this fieldtrip, drag her into the nearest room that didn’t have anyone else in it (who knew that 30 people could feel like such a crowd?) and finish whatever they had left hanging in the air. But what if Blue _was_ out there? What if it was his best shot at finally finding her?

“Try not to get yourself killed,” Claire told him, breaking the silence before it got too awkward for either of them to bear, what with Barry and Lowery watching them with growing interest.

“Me? What about Barry?”

She folded her arms on her chest and leveled Owen with a _look_ before daring a quick glance at the man in question. “I trust Barry not to throw himself into anyone’s teeth just for the sake of finding out what it feels like,” she deadpanned. Beside Owen, Barry snorted openly, and she had a sudden urge to high-five him.

In the months following the I-Rex scandal, Barry would stop by her place now and then, seeking the company of someone who _understood_ , usually with a bottle of wine or a pack of beer, and the two of them would sometimes bond by ganging up against Owen, especially when a video game was involved (mostly because Owen was better at them, so much better, and together they at least stood a chance at winning). Or when they needed to vote for what kind of takeout they should order for dinner ( _Italian doesn’t have to mean pizza, you know? – And eating the stuff you can’t even pronounce with plastic utensils makes all the difference, isn’t it?_ ) She couldn’t possibly not feel a surge of the exact same connection right now because all three of them knew she was right.

“Classy,” Lowery breathed out behind them. “So, you and Owen…” He began the moment the Control Room was Owen Grady-free.

Clare arched an eyebrow. “Where’s Maxwell?” She asked without acknowledging his… not really a question.

“Out. The ACU guys called in an injured Pachy. Want me to bring him in?”

She considered it for a moment, then pulled out her phone. “No, I got it. He’s got a new client here,” she added under her breath, and then, “Keep the feed from Paddock 11 coming, and let me know if you see anything out of the ordinary.” Which, she knew, could mean pretty much anything, but she wanted to believe Lowery would know the difference between _Hey, there’s a dragonfly!_ and _Hey, someone’s being mauled by prehistoric creatures!_

“Sure, boss,” he replied, already back to work. “Where are we with the Operation Apatosauruses?”

Claire hesitated. “Is everything ready for it?”

“Uh-huh,” Lowery turned to her. “The system’s up. I’ll just have the reconfigure their implants once the dinos are where you guys want them to be.”

Claire shook her head. “Hold it for now,” she instructed him. “I think we might have to push it back till tomorrow.”

“Okay.” She was halfway to the elevator when Lowery called her name. “It’s good to have you here, you know?” He said when she turned around. “Makes things feel normal.”

Claire wasn’t sure it was a particularly good thing, not to mention that normal was the last word she’d use in this place, but she was unable to fight a small smile anyway because, be still her heart, she couldn’t exactly disagree.

\---

One of the most valuable lessons the SEALs taught Owen was how to live in a moment. Make no attachments, grow no roots, travel light, and never look back. And, man, did it serve him right more often than not. But, like any other habit, it came to bite him in the ass.

When InGen first approached him about the raptors training program, he didn’t even think twice before saying yes. In fact, he agreed and even mentally sorted through everything he would have to pack for the island before they even finished their pitch – right after he got over the fact that they were talking about actual, honest to God, fucking raptors, of course. It sounded more badass than anything he could have ever imagined, better than his wildest dreams, and more exciting than he thought his life could possibly be. A challenge of a lifetime, he thought. An adventure he’d never forget.  

He did not expect to get that attached to the park, or the animals he got to work with. Especially the animals.

So even though the island held most of his earthly possessions – save for the stuff he’d bought after returning back home, which wasn’t much – the first place he went to after getting off the ferry a week ago was the raptors’ paddock. It wasn’t like he hoped to find Blue there waiting for him to show up for their afternoon play time with his clicker and her favorite treats… but yeah, he kind of was. Deep inside, he hoped against all hope she’d be lurking near the cage that had been her home all her life. He hoped she knew he’d be coming back even before he made that decision.

Which made seeing the place empty and overgrown with ivy that much more depressing. It was like the forest was claiming the back patch of earth boldly taken away from it by people, and it was determined to keep doing just that.

Owen made sure to swing by the paddock at least once a day since. Sometimes twice when he was particularly restless and going back to his bungalow and being stuck in the four walls for hours on end after running around the park all day didn’t feel appealing. He’d walk around the thick walls rising into the sky, climb up the catwalk that creaked under his weight in the eerie silence no longer interrupted by the excited or angry chirping of the raptors, and wonder if this crazy life had ever been real at all, what with his memory starting to fade and fray at the edges. (In his mind, he referred to it as self-torture #2, #1 being, of course, everything related to Claire.) If Blue had ever been there in the months following the downfall of the park though, he’d never seen any sign of it. Sure, there were numerous animal footprints around the cage, but it was impossible to tell who left them and when.

He refused to admit it even to himself, but deep down, he knew he might have to accept the inevitable – the chances of a pack animal surviving on its own in the environment it wasn’t accustomed to were slim at best.

Which was exactly why he felt almost sick with anticipation of finally – finally! – getting something. Probably. Maybe. The feed Lowery showed them looked awful – the camera was too far away, the quality of the image was as bad as it could be, but it still was a million times better than nothing at all, and Owen all but kept his fingers crossed, repeating _Please, please, please_ in his head like some kind of a half-broken, half desperate mantra.

Beside him, Barry looked out the window tapping his fingers impatiently on his knee. They were driving as fast as the far from perfect muddy roads allowed, but it felt like it couldn’t be fast enough even if they were flying.

“Are they really going through with the park again?” Barry asked after a while when the silence grew almost unbearable – both of them too jittery for a small talk of any kind.

“I don’t know,” Owen responded honestly. “Claire doesn’t either, but she thinks they will. Eventually.” He took a sharp turn to the left, remembering that it wasn’t the raptors’ paddock they were going to. “If the post-Indominus settlement payments didn’t leave them flat broke, I don’t think anything could stop them from opening five parks, if they wanted to.”

Barry nodded, his brows still drawn together. Just like it was with Claire, they tended to avoid talking about Jurassic World, neither of them knowing how to address everything that happened, how to talk about the raptors that didn’t make it through that horrendous night. Owen knew Barry was opposed to reopening as well, but since they had no say in the matter, there wasn’t much for them to discuss.

“New York, huh?”

Okay, maybe small talk was better than crawling out of their skins from worry and impatience.  

Owen shrugged. “It’s as good a place as any. Their subways runs 24/7.”

“You move there because of their subway?”

“What? No, of course not. But come on, it’s kinda cool, don’t you think?”

Barry scoffed. “People move to Boston for their pizza, why not go to New York because of their subway?” He shook his head. “So, you’re really going?”

The car jumped when it hit a pothole.

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Didn’t think you’d want to come here. Not after everything.”

Owen drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. “If they are actually planning to reopen, I don’t want to have any part in it.” Just thinking about it was making his jaw tense. “It’s not going to end well,” he muttered. “In which case, this is my only chance to see her one last time.”

“Claire?”

“Claire? No, Blue.” He did NOT sound defensive…. Did he? “Provided, we can track her down.”

“If she’s here, we’ll find her.”

Which, Owen knew, was a great deal of wishful thinking talking. “Yeah. If she wants to be found,” he breathed out just as the walls of Paddock 11 rose above the trees before them.

On instinct, he slowed the car down. Knowing that the paddock was long empty didn’t make his memory of running for his life from the hybrid from hell any less blood-chilling. He would be lying to himself if he told that he wasn’t expecting the I-Rex to storm out of the trees with its mouth agape any moment now.

“She wouldn’t want you to go.” Barry noted. “To New York, I mean.”

Owen frowned. “Blue?”

“Claire.”

Yeah, well…

He threw the car into park, somewhat glad for the distraction of an actual task at hand. They had already been through this conversation before – and each time it ended with Barry calling him something unsavory in French.

They climbed out and scanned the area, all military instincts in place. Raptors were dangerous and unpredictable even on the best of days – if Hoskins seriously believed even for a moment there was a way to train them to do anything they didn’t want to be doing, he was an even bigger idiot than Owen thought. He’d been working with them since the day they were born, and even he knew damn well that he was in command for as long as they allowed him. He certainly wasn’t delusional about his status in the pack. Even so, it didn’t necessarily mean that Blue was okay with being the Alpha, the Beta, and all the other letters of the alphabet, and he itched to know she was okay.

Owen slammed the door and swung the tranq rifle over his shoulder, then looked at Barry standing on the other side of the car.

“Okay, let’s go find us some dinosaurs.”

\---

Claire knew the shit would hit the fan eventually, but she didn’t think it would happen this soon. Someone tipped off the press about the return of a number of employees to Jurassic World, and now hordes of reporters were storming the Masrani Global headquarters – again – demanding the answers. Were they going to open the park? Were they crazy? How could they even think about it after so many people had died and even more got injured the first time around? (The second, if Hammond’s half-assed attempt at making it happen counted for something.)

Granted, the company wasn’t exactly keeping their trip a secret, which was their main line of defense at this point – they were not obliged to keep anyone informed about every step they took, were they? But wherever the tip came from – an inside job, her superiors had no doubt about that – it sure made an excellent story, and now something had to be done about it. Damage control – the words made Claire flinch - before the lack of information blew it out of proportion. She knew that if they kept quiet, in a week every newspaper and every news channel would be screaming about the reopening, speculating about the dates and the black, black hearts of the corporate monsters that swiped the tragedy under the rug and moved on in a blink of an eye. (Honestly, Claire couldn’t exactly disagree with that, but it was all about either working for Masrani, or having an opinion.)

For once, she was more than happy to be here, thousands of miles away from the commotion she’d had enough of for the rest of her life. Oh, the irony! She made a mental note to mention it to Karen – their inside joke of sorts.

But now they wanted her to have a press conference (thanks, but no, thanks), and clear up the confusion (ha, like she had any idea what was actually going on!) The logical Claire saw where they were coming from. Claire-the-professional knew that they were testing the waters, trying to foresee the reaction of the public. But the other Claire, the one that had developed a steady allergy to all things media, wanted to bury her face in a pillow and scream for a solid hour. It wasn’t that they didn’t care about the progress of her work in the park, but they sure did care about the public image of the company a whole lot more. People loved her, they said. Nothing was set in stone yet – and once again, she told them that keeping the island as it was would be their best shot at maybe not waving a red cloth in front of the bull – but they preferred everyone to focus on something else for the time being, like maybe cooking shows on daytime TV or celebrity scandals. And to make that happen, they needed her to smile the right smile and say the right words.

The press conference was a done deal and her protests hit a brick wall – she would be informed on the date, and someone would send her the speech. Her small victory was that it would be a long-distance event done via a web cam or whatever they wanted because the last thing she needed was a curious, nosey and hungry for information bunch to roam around the island packed to the brim with dangerous creatures. Which, frankly, made this idea only slightly more bearable. Then again, if she set a flock of the Pteranodons loose on Channel 9, maybe they’d leave this place alone.

Claire sighed and rubbed her temples, feeling the mother of all headaches build up behind her eyes. There was a cleaning crew coming over the day after tomorrow to take care of the guests’ possessions left at the hotel and have another go at every room. The initial cleanup team took care of most of that stuff, but they didn’t have time, or instructions, to be thorough, and now Claire made it her mission to oversee a proper completion of this task.

More construction workers were flying in as well – she wanted them to reinforce the fence around the pool, make sure the Mosasaurus wouldn’t pull the jumping-out stunt again. Sure, it saved them from the I-Rex, but what if she attacked the guests or the employees? Claire shivered at the thought of risking thousands of lives on a daily basis by having no idea what they were dealing with. Once again, they foolishly assumed that containing her in the water made her safe, and she was sick of it. She was not going to let anyone be killed in this place again.

Right now, however, her mind was too crowded to think straight, too off to keep on being stuck in her office, and this was why, after confirming with Lowery that everyone was alive and no one was in imminent danger, she found herself on the way to the golf course again. And this was where Owen found her an hour later, just as the sunlight began to fade, feeding apples and carrots to the Triceratops through the fence while the vets did a happy dance around her.

She straightened up when she saw him heading towards them out of the corner of her eye and brushed her palms over her pants.

“Have you named her yet?” Owen asked with a grin.

“She’s not a pet,” Claire pointed out.

“I beg to differ.”

“Of course you do.”

“Ms. Dearing here helped us keep the young lady occupied while we ran some tests,” Maxwell patted the animal on the back just as his team started packing up to leave.

“Did she, really?” Owen regarded Claire apprehensively, which she met with her trademark _Just one word, Grady!_ stare.

“Did you find anything?” She asked as the vets shuffled past them, heading back to the Hilton. Not that she had to – the set of his jaw and the crease between his brows spoke volumes.

“Only the footprints all over the forest,” he replied grimacing, his hand running absently up and down the dinosaur’s nose. He picked up an apple from the basket and offered it to her. “Recent ones, too, and I’m pretty sure some of them were raptor’s, but it didn’t seem like a good idea to try and follow them in the dark,” he looked up at Claire. “We knew it was a long shot.” He shrugged, eager to brush it off, even though she saw he was disappointed. “How long have you been here?”

She ran her hand through her hair, pushing it back despite the wind’s persistent attempts to throw it in her eyes. “A while.” She admitted, and then told him about a temporary fence the ACU put around half of the golf course to hopefully keep the Triceratops there until the morning so that they wouldn’t have to chase her around the whole island. “She doesn’t have a tracking implant,” Claire explained. “They’re going to put one in tomorrow.”

Owen scratched the animal’s nose. “She like you, you know?”

“Of course she does, I gave her food,” Claire snorted, sounding a tad more pleased than she’d intended, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.

“I was talking to her,” he chuckled pointing at the dinosaur, his eyebrow arched at Claire. “Ready to head back?”

The two of them started towards the hotel just as the streetlamps along the footpath came to life, chasing away the shadows creeping in on them, the sounds of the nature oddly amplified in the dark. In the distance, Claire could hear the soft lapping of the waves against the sand even though the beach was a good mile away. The stiffening humidity was finally giving way to the fresh cool breeze, which made the cicadas go crazy all around them. Just like camping, 65 million years ago.

“I bet the mosquitoes were bigger back then,” Owen muttered, slapping himself on the arm, making her realize she must have said the last part out loud.

“Well, we can’t have all the fun, can we?” Claire noted drily, itching – literally – for a mosquito repellent bath. “I’m sending a crew tomorrow to start working on the aviary. Do you think it’s possible to recapture the Pteranodons and the Dimorphodons?”

“It’s doable,” he said after a while. “But it’s gonna be challenging. We’d have to come pretty close to their nests so that they wouldn’t have to fall from 50 feet in the sky when we stun them, and they’re not going to like it.”

She pursed her lips. “Right now they pose the biggest threat,” she said. “And if we can’t contain them…” Christ, why wouldn’t they contain mosquitoes? “If we can’t contain them, they’re going to be killed.”

“Are you serious?” He frowned.

“I don’t want it to happen any more than you do. But they’re dangerous, Owen.” She hated the way it came out, all cold and detached – like they were talking corporate things and benefits again, not living creatures, and she was so, so past that. “They’re the only ones we can’t lock up, and the only ones that don’t _have_ to stay here. And I don’t need to tell you what would happen if they left the island. The Coast Guard of Costa Rica is already on the lookout for anything coming from here.”

Because the Pteranodons and the Dimorphodons really _were_ dangerous. They both knew it was true. Just like they knew that InGen had already shot half of them during the mayhem on the Main Street, and then even more when they decided to join the post-incident cleanup party. She didn’t have warm and fuzzy feelings towards the one that nearly ripped out Owen’s jugular, but it didn’t mean they deserved to be eliminated just for following their instincts. She did not want them to die.

Owen nodded, his features still hard. “I’ll look into it.” And then asked, “Is this what chased you out of the office?”

Claire made a face and told him about the call she got from Masrani and the press going wild back in the States, knowing it wouldn’t take long for the rest of the world to follow suit. On the one hand, the park could have stayed in the headlines only for so long before something much more interesting happened, but then again, it wasn’t something that would be forgotten easily, and, like a forest fire in July, in only needed one small spark to start blazing again.

It was easier to focus on the dinosaurs.

Owen snickered, his jaw clenched. “At least they’re not sending anyone over here.”

“I told them I’d quit if they did,” she grumbled. He did not doubt that. “Now _that_ would be bad for publicity. The problem is, the press is not going to listen to me,” she huffed with exasperation. “They’ll hear what they want to hear and turn it into whatever they want it to be.”

“Would you like me to do some more punching?” He offered if a little too eagerly.

Claire hemmed. “As an employee of Masrani Global Corporation and Operations Manager of Jurassic World, I appreciate your offer and absolutely forbid you to punch anyone. As Claire Dearing, a human being, I appreciate your offer and would kindly ask you to hold my phone while I do the punching.”

Owen chuckled. He’d actually pay to see that happen, but it was hardly the kind of thing to mention to her now. Instead, he cleared his throat, “About that thing you asked earlier…” He ran his hand through his hair. “I’m not sure how to—”

Claire sucked in a breath, nearly doubling over because he sure did know how to land a perfect sucker punch with 12 words or less. She expected it – it would’ve been stupid not to after everything she oh so graciously put him through – but she’d lie to herself if she didn’t admit she was hoping for something else. Not necessarily a solid yes, perhaps. A maybe would do, too.

“Forget it,” she cut him off, hoping her voice was as steady as she wanted it to be and not as quivering as she knew it actually was. “I shouldn’t have—” She stopped walking, forcing him to stop as well. They still were a solid hundred feet away from the hotel, the light streaming from the lobby through the tall windows barely reaching their spot. “No, don’t. I don’t want you to forget it. I don’t want you to go to New York,” Claire looked away for a moment trying to compose herself before locking her eyes with his again. “I want this – _us_ – to work.” She swallowed. “It’s a lot to ask, and I know I didn’t handle it well the first time around, and you got hurt in the process—”

“I don’t think I was the only one who got hurt.”

“--but I want to give it a try.”

She watched him, waiting, counting the seconds (minutes-months-years) in her mind. Near complete darkness made it impossible to read his face, and she suddenly regretted not taking this conversation to a brighter place. Sure, it helped mask her own edginess but it definitely had its disadvantages, and wouldn’t it be ironic if something swopped in to eat them right this very moment? Although a part of her wouldn’t mind it all that much, not with where she was certain this conversation was going.

At last, Owen let out a long breath (and she really, really wished his face wasn’t half hidden in the shadows) and shook his head. “Look, it’s not that I don’t trust you, Claire…”

“But you don’t,” she finished for him softly.

“Kind of. A little bit.” He admitted ruefully. “But I’d really want us to work, too. I mean,” he scoffed, “you befriended a Triceratops today. After that, _nothing_ is impossible.”

“I didn’t—” she started to argue but cut herself off. This was not the conversation she wanted to have right now.

“My point is, if there ever was one,” Owen took her hand and brought it up to his face, pressing a kiss on the inside of her wrist right above yet another mosquito bite, never breaking eye contact, making her skin tingle, “you’ve never stopped being my mess.” He sighed, “Just… promise me that if you have any doubts or second thoughts in the future, you’ll come to me first before you start packing up for Alaska or something. Okay?”

“Okay,” Claire responded with a soft smile (that was probably moments away from breaking her face in two). “We can take it slow,” she offered. A compromise. Hell, she’d be happy to take it at a snail’s pace if that was what he wanted.

He snorted and stepped closer, reaching his hand to tuck her hair behind her ear, his thumb running over her cheek. “I think we’ve taken it slow enough already.”

And then his mouth was on hers, his lips demanding, possessive, claiming what he’d been craving for for too long. It wasn’t that he didn’t count their _Spur-of-a-moment-we-just-nealy-got-killed-and-then-you-saved-my-life-which-I-think-was-all-kinds-of-hot-so-I-better-act-now-because-we-might-still-die-in-under-five-minutes-or-so-also-I-might-have-hit-my-head-pretty-hard_ kiss, or the other two almost kisses he didn’t have the guts to go through with, chicken that he was, but he wanted so bad to do it right. He wanted to do it ever since that unfortunate date of theirs he couldn’t think of without flinching inwardly. Since before then even.

Probably since the first time he saw her in the sharp fluorescent lights of the conference room – did he ever thank Hoskins for sending him to this agonizingly boring meeting? - looking like she had just stepped off the page of _Entrepreneur_ , not a single crease of her suit, not a hair out of place. Back then, her gaze slid right past him, a professional half-smile barely touching her lips, and he had spent the next two hours (and then the next six years) imagining what it would be like to break through that carefully constructed shell of hers and let the real Claire out.

Man, whoever called her Ice Queen clearly had no idea that Claire Dearing was made entirely of fire, and a part of him wanted to laugh in their faces, while the other wanted to just laugh because _thank God_ , because _finally!_ His hand slid down from her face and slipped around her waist, pulling her closer, wishing he could lose the goddamn gun that was so annoyingly getting in the way right now (although without it, this kiss would probably turn into something very PG very fast, so maybe it wasn’t a bad thing he didn’t have both of his hands to himself). And seriously, they needed to learn to take this kind of stuff to less public places.

Breathless, he pulled back resting his forehead against hers for a moment, then brushing his lips to her hairline as her shaky breath fell on his neck, making him shiver all over.

“Owen?”

“Mmm?” He ran his hand up and down her back.

“How do my nephews know you’re here?”

“FaceTime,” he said in the same voice he could have used to say _Pigeon post_ , and Claire failed to figure out if her was joking or not. “Is this something you want to talk about now?”

“Not really.”

She found his lips with hers again, snaking her arm around his neck, her fingers burying into the hair at the nape of his neck while she gripped a fistful of his shirt with her other hand, pulling him down, her back arched to press her body closer to his chest, wishing that, for once, she was actually wearing her heels because he was tall, so wonderfully tall. She felt his smile with her lips, heard a muffled noise of appreciation coming from the back of his throat, and so God help her—

They jumped apart at the sound of a gunshot.

**To be continued...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, comments and kudos are welcome :))
> 
> Also, not to spoil anything, but it's so good to be writing proper Clawen goodness!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for your love, and kudos, and comments, guys!!!  
> Sorry, this chapter is a bit long, I didn't have the Internet for a couple of days and so I just kept on writing... *whistles innocently*
> 
> WARNING! Clawen!  
> WARNING! Shameless fluff!  
> WARNING! Mature(-ish?) stuff  
> Okay, proceed.... 
> 
> PS Smile by Uncle Kracker is such a Clawen song!

_...You make me dance like a fool,_  
_Forget how to breathe,_  
_Shine like gold,_  
_Buzz like a bee_.  
_Just the thought of you can drive me wild_ _..._

_Smile - Uncle Cracker_

The main problem with something being spectacularly, tremendously good was that there was nowhere for it to go but down.

As much as Owen wanted to believe that the deafening clasps he heard were nothing but fireworks going off in his head – because wouldn’t that make sense?! In his mind, it sure did – his whole being went straight into a full combat mode in two seconds flat because, goddammit, he knew the sound of a 9mm way too well, and he couldn’t imagine any of the people on this island firing it by accident or without a reason.

Beside him, Claire went completely still, her breath short and forced, like she was trying to hold it, but her lungs didn’t appreciate the idea.

“What was that?” She asked in a low, alarmed voice.

His hand flexed on her waist, fingers digging into the soft cotton of her shirt. Behind them, the hotel was blazing like a Christmas tree, but the rest of the park was all black and indigo shadows, covering everything like a soft blanket. Which was fun and cool, except it made it impossible to see anything, the occasional streetlamps, while useful for moving around safely without bumping or falling into anything, were only making things worse now, preventing his eyes from adjusting properly to the darkness.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, listening so intensely he thought his head might explode. “Stay here.” He handed her the tranq rifle when she opened her mouth to protest and reached for his handgun. “Take this. Go inside, find Barry.”

He started running back to where they came from, equal parts concerned because his mind oh so helpfully supplied him with a mile-long list of the worst-case scenarios that he knew weren’t probably half as bad as what could’ve actually happened, his experience considered, and annoyed because if someone interrupted the best thing that happened to him in this entire century, he was going to kill them with his bare hands. Behind him, Claire was already on the phone, and he sped up rounding the pool gleaming in the night with the underwater lights and skidding to a halt only when he found himself by the golf course fence again.

It was darker there, the light of the streetlamps barely reaching the edge of the footpath. An ACU guy – Daniels, if Owen remembered correctly – stood on the other side of the fence, pointing his gun at a cluster of trees ahead of him, his rifle slung over his shoulder. He tensed at the sound of Owen’s footsteps but he didn’t look away from his target, whatever it was.

“What happened?” Owen demanded, struggling to catch his breath.

“This,” Daniels nodded at something on the ground, and it took Owen a few moments to recognize a long beak and leathery wings of the Pteranodon, which made him go rigid with _Oh hell, no! Not again!_

He jumped over the fence and approached the dinosaur slowly, not trusting its stillness and only relaxing – somewhat – when he spotted the familiar darts in his neck and belly. With any luck, it’d be out for quite a while, which raised another question—

“Who were you shooting at?”

Slowly, Daniels lowered his weapon, his eyes still trained on the trees. “There was something else. Bigger.” He shook his head. “It took off when I fired. I think I grazed it, but I’m not sure.”

And then there was another question—

They both turned around to the sound of heavy footfalls to find Barry and two other men running towards them with Claire only slightly behind. And, thank heavens, at least someone thought to bring a flashlight!

“What is it?” Barry asked, and got a full recollection of the events as he climbed over and onto the grass.

“This is exactly what I was talking about,” Claire breathed out, her eyes never leaving the still form of the Pteranodon. She frowned then, “Where is…”

Right. The Triceratops. Owen looked at Daniels. Daniels pointed somewhere to the left, which basically meant – anywhere between here and the equator.

“We’ll find her.” Owen came over to the fence and repeated quieter, “We will.” He looked over at Barry who crouched beside the Pteranodon, and then at Claire again. “Go back, send the vets over here. We can’t just leave him here,” he jerked his chin at the dinosaur. She nodded if a little hesitantly. He leaned slightly forward, his hand resting on top of hers lying on the cool metal railing. “You and I? We’re not finished.”

It would have been so easy to lean over that fence and kiss her again, and was it tempting, if only to make sure that this wonderful, magical thing that happened not 10 minutes ago actually _did_ happen (because he had a dream like that before, about a thousand times just last week alone, if he were to be completely honest with himself, which didn’t necessarily make it real, so his trust issues in this department weren’t entirely uncalled for). And just thinking about it was doing things to him, like making him want to smile like an idiot in the middle of what could only be described as a very unfortunate turn of events. But it did seem like a bad time, what with the unwanted audience already darting curious looks at them, and they did have a crisis going on, and so he resorted to running his thumb over the back of Claire’s hand.

Uncertain, her lower lip caught between her teeth, she looked over his shoulder at the beast sprawled on the ground, expecting it to leap into the air any moment. Barry was saying something into his walkie-talkie, his voice muffled and his words unintelligible. There was quite possibly next to nothing she could do to actually be of use right now, but not being on top of things was making her anxious and edgy – not to mention that _everything_ about this place was making her anxious and edgy – and what if—?

And it was so bloody dark!

“Go,” Owen repeated, sensing her hesitation. “We got it here. It won’t take long.”

Control issues. Right.

“You might need this,” Claire handed him his rifle back, her lips curved into this small half-smile that never failed to drive him crazy, and it wasn’t like he minded – hello, no! – but right now it was sort of distracting. “Be careful, okay?”

He squeezed her hand briefly, and then nodded to the man standing slightly to the side and mostly watching their surroundings (in case something else decided to attack, given the fact that they posed an excellent target, Owen figured) to walk Claire back to the hotel.

It took quite a while, despite his best guess.

The vets arrived to check on the Pteranodon to make sure it didn’t have any broken bones or any other injuries. Seeing as how the aviary was more destroyed than not, they had no other choice but to drive it all the way to the old park – no one was insane enough to take it all the way back to their nesting territory in the dark – and leave it there to come to, which Maxwell didn’t want to do because his medical ethics was stronger than his sense of self-preservation and his understanding of how really dangerous some of those species could be when angered or threatened. Even after the carnage that happened on _that day_ , many people looked at the dinosaurs in awe and admiration, and there was nothing wrong with it, not at all, but this kind of judgment often clouded their perception of what they could be capable of.

The common sense won in the end, however, and that was the only thing that actually mattered, but Owen couldn’t help wishing they hadn’t wasted forty minutes arguing about it.

Afterwards, they found a breach in the temporary fence, which explained how whatever Daniels saw got in and out. Unfortunately, given the grassy terrain of the golf course, the footprints were a joke. There was some blood on the grass though, which at least made it clear something was there – you never really knew with this park.

Finding the Triceratops was their next order of business, and it took a while, seeing as how she wasn’t inclined to respond to their calls – not that anyone expected her to. By some miracle, she– despite being rather distressed – didn’t find said breach first, and they managed to fix it, hoping nothing would come visit her again till the morning. Owen considered relocating her elsewhere, but the only available cages – the empty paddocks previously occupied by the raptors and the I-Rex – were miles away, and either sedating her, or herding her there at night sounded more suicidal than logical. Maxwell injected her with a light tranquilizer to keep her calm – she wouldn’t even notice the damn fence if something spooked her into actual running, and, as Claire mentioned earlier, no one was particularly fond of the idea of chasing after her all over the island.

By the time they made it back to the Hilton, his eyes were sandy and the only thing on his mind was a long and hopefully dreamless sleep. Frankly, he wasn’t delusional about the dreamless part, but hey, here’s to hoping.

What he didn’t expect – or hope, for that matter – to find in his own room was Claire curled on his bed, fast asleep. She was still wearing her clothes from earlier, her flats kicked off and lying on the floor.

Owen crossed the room and crouched by the bed; he pried the phone out of her hand and curled his fingers around hers. “Claire?”

She blinked sleepily at him, and then rubbed her eyes. “Sorry, I wanted to know how everything went. What time is it?”

“Around 2.30. Everything’s fine.” He gave her a brief recount of the events of the past few hours, sticking to the facts with military precision. “Would you like me to take you to your suite?” He offered afterward.

Claire tucked her arm under her head. In the pale light of the reading lamp, his eyes seemed almost black. “I know my way around this hotel.”

The corner of Owen’s mouth twitched slightly. “It’s not what I asked.”

Claire paused for a moment, studying his face. Because, _of course_ , it wasn’t. Because nothing was ever a yes or no between them, nothing was simple, or straightforward, or black and white, and it would always take them forever and a half to get somewhere – no shortcuts allowed. And, come to think of it, she should have gotten used to it by now perhaps, except she wasn’t even halfway there yet. It was a minefield, and she knew how it would end if she took the wrong step.

And yet…

“No,” Claire replied at last.

How did that saying about jumping off the cliff and learning to fly on the way down go, again?

“Okay.” If Owen was surprised, he didn’t show it.

By the time he found a spare comforter so that he wouldn’t have to pull the covers from under her, took a quick shower, and changed into the sweats and a tee, Claire was already dozing off again. The mattress dipped and shifted under his weight, and she rolled over, relaxing into him, burying her face in his chest.

“You should keep your door locked, you know,” she murmured.

“You can’t say that after giving me a million reasons not to do it ever again,” he countered, earning a muffled snort in response.

“I’m not good at this,” Claire said after a while.

“What? Breaking and entering? Yes, you are.”

She shifted to rest her head on his arm, her fingers running lazy circles around the button of his shirt. “Being with someone. I have a bad track record. The worst, actually.”

“Everyone’s got a bad track record, Claire.” God, she had no right to render him speechless just by _existing_. Shouldn’t there be a law against that kind of thing, or something? “It’s not like you get a grade point average for that kind of stuff.”

She stayed quiet for a few moments (instantly sending him into a full panic mode because what if it was the exact thing he shouldn’t have said? And did he really have to put his big foot into his even bigger mouth like that?) before whispering, “Don’t give up on me, okay?”

The wave of protectiveness surged through him, hot and strong, making Owen want to punch whoever made her believe she was bad at anything into the ground. Claire didn’t need him to fight her battles, he knew that and respected it, but it didn’t make his instinct to shield her from everything bad in the world any less present, or any less overwhelming.   

There were a couple of things he wanted to say to that, like that he didn’t wait for _years_ to finally get where they were now and turn around, for instance. Or that he’d sooner die than hurt her. Or that he’d missed her so much he thought he’d go insane, and he would be a complete moron to so much as blink the wrong way and risk losing her again. But he was so tired his brain was starting to hurt, so instead he pulled her closer and allowed his eyes to flutter shut on, “Fat chance, Dearing.”

\---

The sand was hard-packed under her feet as Claire raced down the beach, ignoring the ache in her calves, the occasional discomfort in her ankle, and her burning lungs. Her skin was covered with a sheer layer of salt thrown at her by the surf; the wind tugged at the wisps of hair that escaped her ponytail, pushing them into her eyes. They had a couple of relatively cool days this week that tricked her into thinking that maybe the weather would start inching towards autumn at last, but today hit her with stifling humidity and the sun so bright and hot she knew she’d start sizzling if she didn’t cut her run short.

“ _You’re coming for Christmas, right?_ ” She heard Karen’s voice in her earpiece, distant and breaking, courtesy of the less than ideal reception.

Claire slowed down, settling into an easier jog to catch her breath. “I don’t know. Maybe.” She reached her midpoint mark and turned back. “It’s still four months away.”

“ _They’re not going to make you work around the clock_ ,” her sister pointed out.

They might, actually, Claire thought. This job came with irregular hours, among other irregular things. Although, truth be told, she was more concerned about not knowing where she’d be in four months than anything else – which was stressing her out more than she was willing to admit even to herself.

“I’m not saying no, I’m just saying we’ll have to talk about it later.”

“ _You don’t have to come alone, you know. You could bring Owen_.”

“Why would you—”

“ _Okay, let me rephrase this – can you please come over for Christmas **and** bring Owen? My sons wouldn’t stop talking about him, and I don’t see why I should be the only one taking a hit_.”

Claire’s lips stretched into a smile, which made her kind of happy Karen – or anyone else – couldn’t see it.

It had been two weeks since the freaky Pteranodon incident. Two weeks since she ended up falling asleep in Owen Grady’s bed. Two weeks since she had to sneak out of his room at 6 in the morning because her phone went crazy at this ungodly hour and _of course_ it was a matter of life and death (it wasn’t, but the people in Masrani Global didn’t usually know the difference, or have respect for her time zone), and she wisely chose to let him sleep despite his incoherent protests.

Actually, the things were going pretty well in the park. They managed to return most of the dinosaurs to their assigned territories after fixing or replacing their tracking implants. There were a few of them still roaming around, but they were less of a problem - except the flying ones, of course, and they still had the T-Rex to capture. Additionally, they managed to reinforce the fence around the pool to ensure that everyone was safe from the Mosasaurs’ ‘Free Wily’ stunt, and Claire swore she could breathe easier now that she didn’t have to worry about that.

She had thrown all forces into fixing the aviary, which took a while to take care of, but now it also was done and over with – a small victory, but a victory nonetheless. Her next order of business was to finally finish cleaning up the Main Street that still looked a bit too unnervingly post-apocalyptic to her.

Unfortunately, it meant she barely got to see Owen at all, what with her reports and spreadsheets and constant calls from the States, and his overwhelming desire to stay as far away from this side of the park life as he possibly could. He would go to the raptors’ paddock after he was done for the day and then drive around for a while searching for Blue, and she’d tag along now and then, but this usually was counterproductive because they’d normally end up making out in his car (twice) or on the beach (four times) until something summoned one or both of them back to the resort, and there _always_ was something. And yes, she was the one who offered to take things slowly, but now she wasn’t sure she’d really meant it. And yes, she wouldn’t want to go any further when they were on a deadline of any kind, but it was getting ridiculous. She even contemplated giving everyone a day off – ha! – just so the two of them could catch a breath.

Come to think of it, there was a chance Owen might like an idea of visiting her family.

“ _Besides, when was the last time you went skiing?_ ” Karen went on.

“When was the last time you went to the beach?” Claire countered.

“ _You live with the dinosaurs, it doesn’t count_.”

“I don’t live—Hold on, I have another call.” Inhale, exhale, repeat. “Dearing.”

“ _Claire?_ ” It was Lowery. “ _Hey, don’t freak out, but there was an accident. Owen_ —”

She skidded to a halt sending sprays of sand into the air, suddenly breathless for all the wrong reasons.

“Where?” She snapped before he went into all kinds of unnecessary details.

“ _Doc_ …” _Maxwell_ , she figured, “… _took them to the Fist Aid station. The one behind the lab_.”

She hung up, forgetting about Karen waiting on the other line, and started to run before Lowery finished what he was going to say.  

The First Aid station smelled of antiseptic and sanitizer, and its freakishly white walls were giving her anxiety and headache. Claire pushing through the swinging doors as her heart leaped up to her throat, threatening to suffocate her, and rushed down the corridor, following the sound of the voices coming from the examination room, stopping abruptly in the doorway.

Barry was sitting on the cot to the right from her stripped to the white wife-beater, his bloodied shirt lying on the tiled floor. Maxwell’s assistant was in the process of bandaging his upper arm when Claire arrived. On the left side of the room, another one of the InGen men was lying on the stretchers, fully conscious and wincing in pain as Maxwell put stitches on the nasty-looking cut on his thing, the pant leg of his trousers cut through almost to his waist. And in the middle, Owen stood leaning on the counter by the sink and pressing what she guessed was a pack of ice wrapped in a towel to the back of his head, his shirt stained with what Claire hoped was dirt, his forearms covered in cuts like he’d just took a roll through the thorn bushes.

“What happened?” She breathed out, still panting from the run.

“Miss Dearing,” Maxwell glanced at her over his shoulder.

“Hey, Claire,” Barry gave her a small wave with his good hand while Owen frowned.

“Did Lowery call you? I told him not to bother you. We’re fine.”

“What happened?” Claire repeated, wondering if this was a good moment to start panicking.

Owen het out a huff and pointed at Barry, “Dimorphodon.” Then at the other man, “Pteranodon.” And then at his head. “Boulder. I think.” He changed the hands, holding the ice pack with his left one now. “They didn’t like us coming over uninvited.”

Of course, they didn’t! They were fucking dinosaurs!

“How bad?” She asked, talking mostly to the back of Maxwell’s head.

“A couple of stitches,” he replied dismissively. “They’ll live.”

“Hey, I don’t need stitches,” Owen piped up, and Barry rolled his eyes.

Claire hesitated for a moment, and then approached him slowly, a bit too aware of the audience for her comfort and trying to ignore the fact that she was still wearing her workout leggings and a tank top – not that there was a dress code they had to stick to, but still. The two of them didn’t exactly keep their… _something_ a secret, but they weren’t parading it in front of everyone either, and she struggled to figure out just what kind of a freak-out she was allowed to display.

 “Let me see,” she said, and Owen turned around and lowered his hand without a protest. Up close, she could also see rips and tears in his shirt, and it did not make the whole situation look any better. He was sporting and decent-sized bump, and she itched to demand they tell her the whole story, while a part of her knew she probably didn’t want to know. “Does it hurt?”

“More now than when I was out cold,” he admitted, turning back to her again.

“Jesus…”

And then he added quickly, keeping his voice low enough only for Claire to hear, “Why don’t you dress like this more often?” His lips quirked into a lopsided smirk as he gave her yet another apprehensive once-over.

By unspoken agreement, coming mostly from the way she would straighten her back and square her shoulders around everyone else, pulling the Claire _I-Run-This-Place_ Dearing to the surface, they steered clear of any public displays of _anything_ (even though Owen was certain that everyone who wasn’t blind or stupid knew everything there was to know). But she did look pretty damn good in those snug leggings and he just took a good blow to the head--

The color rose on her cheeks, and she knew – _she knew_ – he was trying to make up for scaring her, and it wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate it but it was the wrong move in given circumstances. Right now Claire was honestly torn between having a meltdown (because he was running around this goddamn island day in and day out all but _trying_ to feed himself to the dinosaurs, and it was a miracle that something like that, or even something worse, didn’t happen sooner, and half the time she was worried sick because Owen fucking Grady didn’t always know how not to be borderline suicidal), and maybe smacking him with something (because he had no freaking right to die on her, not after everything they’d been through). And, quite frankly, the latter was getting really appealing.

“Do you want to hear the good news?” Owen asked when she tried and mostly failed to scold him.

“What, someone got mauled by a mountain lion but survived?” She asked drily.

“We go them all,” Barry replied from his spot.

“That was my line,” Owen protested, and then repeated, “We got them all. The airspace over Isla Nublar is officially frying stuff-free.”

“Except the seagulls,” the InGen guy Maxwell was still working on added solemnly.

Claire closed her eyes and took a slow steadying breath. She had that ridiculous press conference call in two hours, the speech Masrani people sent her was complete and utter crap, and, ideally, she needed a week off just to wrap her mind around it, but now she was here, all sweaty and terrified _again_ , and they were talking about the seagulls.

Unbelievable.

\---

“Why are you doing this?” She asked Lowery an hour and a half later while he was fiddling with her laptop, setting it for the call as she paced – _walked casually_ , thank you very much – around her office after somehow managing to fix her hair and make herself more or less presentable, all things considered.

“Because you asked me to,” he responded without looking up.

He was wearing a shirt with that T-Rex meme about it being angry because its arms were too short for a proper hug, and the past Claire would have probably asked him to get rid of it, while this new one wondered where she could get one for herself. Or Owen. Or Gray. Maybe not Zach though – he seemed to be more of a raptor guy. Although if she brought anything dinosaur-related to her sister’s house, Karen would most definitely go ballistic. Surprisingly enough, she didn’t set all of Gray’s dinosaur figurines on fire, but she made her opinion on the matter clear enough for both of the boys not to so much as mention anything prehistoric around her from now on.

“No, not this,” Claire waved dismissively at her computer. “The park. Why are you here after it failed so _disastrously_ the first time around?”

She stopped and looked at him across her expansive desk that seemed even bigger after she removed all of her papers and fodders and everything else for the occasion.  

Lowery met her eyes and shrugged like this kind of question didn’t make any sense to him whatsoever. “But it didn’t, Claire. It didn’t fail. It worked.” He signed and pushed his glasses up his nose. “Look, I’m not saying it was a good idea to begin with, but you’ve got to admit that it failed _disastrously_ , as you say, only after you guys went for gene-splicing.” He turned the laptop to her, “Here, let me show you how it works. See this button? They’ll call you, you press it, and…. You’re all set.”

She nodded, trying not to think of the actual call, of the words she would have to say, of the questions she would have to answer, or ignore (which would go for most of them), of her heart fluttering somewhere in her chest because the secret to being convincing was actually _believing_ in what you were saying. You could sell snow to the Eskimo as long as you thought it was what they needed. And she wasn’t sure she could say that about herself and Jurassic World right now. Not with Masrani Global watching over her shoulder. They trusted her with the reputation of the entire conglomerate, and she knew that if she took one wrong step, there would be a price to pay.

Lowery pushed the chair back and stood up. “They’re extinct for a reason, you know,” he said as he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his pants. “And maybe this reason is that we’re not meant to coexist, and I’m pretty sure it’s something no one could argue with. I mean, it’s obviously either them or us, and if that were that case, our chances at making it would be slim at best.” He chuckled wistfully. “But they’re _dinosaurs,_ Claire. They’re awesome.” His smile grew cheekier. “How could I _not_ be doing this?”

His words were still ringing in her head a few hours later when the nightmare of a call and then a long follow-up conversation with Anderson were over and she was all but shaking in her ridiculously expensive chair, her hands gripping the edge of her desk, and she knew it was just a beginning.

She had singlehandedly ripped to pieces everything Masrani Global had spent the last few months creating. She was, quite possibly, another call away from being fired. Because she said _screw you_ to the speech. Because she said the words she would’ve said had this decision been hers – except it wasn’t, and she had no idea what kind of trouble they all were in now. Okay, maybe it wasn’t that bad. She basically made it pretty clear that the reopening was off the table (which made the press happy, and everyone else – not really), stating that her presence on the island was nothing but an administrative formality (which wasn’t really a lie, thankfully).

And then the conversation with Anderson crushed her hopes and best intentions – just as she expected.

She slammed her laptop closed with an irritated grunt, wishing she could direct her anger at something that wasn’t inanimate, sick of not knowing what was going on, sick of being kept in the dark and falling into one booby trap after another.

“Bad timing?” Owen’s voice pulled her out of her internal outrage, his head poking through the slightly ajar door.

“Hey,” she pushed her computer away, feeling the muscles of her face relax for the first time in hours, her lips pulling into a small smile. “No, I was just… Nothing.”

He walked in, his eyebrows arched. He’d changed since he she saw him this morning, and the cuts on his forearms didn’t stand out just as much, but he still looked a little more beaten-up than she found comfortable.

“Tough day?” He hemmed.

She grimaced. “The usual one. How’s your head?”

“I’m 70% aspirin, if that answers your question.”

He strolled over to her desk and leaned down to kiss her, his hands griping the armrests of her chair, trapping her in it, and the smell of soap on his skin and jungle on his hair made her head spin.

“Frankly, it rises a whole lot of other questions,” Claire admitted, making him wiggle his eyebrows, which, in its turn, made her giggle. Granted, it sounded like she was half a step away from finally losing it, but at least she wasn’t feeling homicidal anymore. “Is Barry okay?”

“Everyone’s fine. How long have you been here?” Owen frowned, looking around the room.

“A while,” Claire sighed. _And probably will be a while longer_ , she added in her mind. 

“Have you eaten anything today?” His eyes bore into her.

 _That_ was an excellent question. Frankly, she had a problem remembering when yesterday ended and today began. She did have coffee. And now she also sort of wanted something stronger. Or needed, more like it.

“I guess,” she said, which was the closest thing to an honest answer she could come up with.

“Well, this settles it then.” He pulled her up to her feet and steered her towards the door, his hands on her shoulders. “Come on, let’s go get you some food.”

“I can’t, Owen, I have something to take care of,” she tried to protest - because there were so many _somethings_ she was afraid to even start thinking of them all - but it came out half-hearted and weak even to her ears.

“This something will still be here in two hours,” he pointed out, dropping a kiss on the top of her head as he kicked the door closed behind them.

“Where are we going?”

“I know just the place,” he promised her.

“A vending machine downstairs? The hotel kitchen?” Claire eyed him skeptically over her shoulder just as they reached the elevator.

“Please! Give me some credit.” He snorted and pressed the button.

He held her hand all the way down to the lobby and only let go of it when they stepped into the humid late afternoon. Claire stopped in her tracks when she saw where he was headed for, gaping wide-eyed and open-mouthed at—

“Where did this come from?”

Owen patted his bike on the leather seat with almost as much fondness as she saw him expressed towards the dinosaurs (which was usually a lot) and mounted it with a familiar ease. “Found it in the hangar,” he explained. “Someone must’ve hauled it there after… well, you know. It wasn’t that big a deal to fix it up a little.”

“I’m not getting on that thing,” Claire stated firmly, eyeing the bike with distrust and keeping her distance for good measure. “And you shouldn’t either. What if you have a concussion? You can’t ride a bike if you have a concussion.”

“I don’t have a concussion, trust me. I know exactly what it feels like, I’d never get on a bike if there was even a chance...” She crossed her arms on her chest and raised an eyebrow at him, unconvinced. He sighed. “Okay, I’d never ask _you_ to get on a bike with me if it wasn’t one thousand percent safe.”

Which did make a compelling argument. Sort of.

“Come on, Claire, live a little.”

She bit her lip, still wavering, but mostly trying not to smile.

“It’ll be fun,” Owen promised her, sensing that her resolve began to crack. “You’ll like it.” And a grin on his face when he said it could’ve only been described as smug.

And in the end, she actually did. Despite the wind tearing at her hair. Despite the bumpy roads. Despite the fact that a time or two she honestly thought they’d both take a dive into one ditch or the other. It was fun. It was exhilarating. Especially after she stopped hiding her face in Owen’s back and trying to crush his ribs with s dead grip. At some point, she even whooped in delight, making him laugh and say something like _Told ya!_ but his voice was swallowed by the roar of the wind in her ears.

He parked the bike in front of his bungalow and killed the engine, allowing the silence and the ever-present sounds of the forest to settle around them.

“Is this your special place?” Claire asked as she got off, her legs shaking slightly from all the adrenaline coursing through her system. She pushed her hair off her face and squinted in the sun that hung low near the horizon. “I should’ve guessed.”

Owen propped the bike on the kickstand to keep it steady, then leaned against it and tugged her close, slipping his arms around her waist and finding her lips with his, to which she obliged without hesitation. The kiss was deep and slow, and it made Claire weak in the knees even more than the ride – which, she had to admit, was fun in its own way. Dangerous, exciting fun. She could certainly see the appeal.  

“I thought we were getting food,” she reminded him between the light pecks.

“We are.”

“So, this is your idea of a snack?”

“No, my idea of a snack is beer and crackers.”

Claire snorted. “Just what a girl wants to hear.”

“What does a girl want to hear?” He asked suggestively, but then dropped the act, his features softening, when it became clear she wasn’t into it. “You want to tell me what got you all worked up earlier?”

“I wasn’t worked up.”

“You looked like you were going to start throwing furniture out the windows. Which I wouldn’t recommend - I mean, we _just_ got those windows fixed.” He rested his hands on her waist, his thumbs moving in slow circles against the thin fabric of her shirt. “And if this wasn’t ‘worked up’, then I’m not sure I want to know what the real ‘worked up’ is.”

“It’s nothing.” She looked away from him, focusing for a moment on the clutter of stuff on the wobbly table by the porch he was yet to take care of. “I don’t know. It’s nothing.”

When she agreed to come back, she knew it would come down to this eventually – to all the decisions she couldn’t make, to the things crowding her mind she didn’t want to think of, to questioning everything all over again. And she coulnd’t--

“Okay. Is there anything I can do?”

Claire laughed if a little bitterly. “You could go back in time – say, 30 years – and convince John Hammond to pick up golf instead of cloning, and maybe none of this would be happening now.”

“Fine,” he agreed easily. “Give me 10.”

Her laughter was lighter this time, but it died down when she met his eyes again. “Actually, there’s one thing…” She paused. “Get my mind off of this. Make me forget.”

When she was 5, Claire took to jumping into their pool, sinking down to the bottom and simply staying there for as long as she could. She liked how the world was quiet but not really, its constant noise muffled and its sharp angles softened and rippling before her eyes. And on the sunny days, man, was it magnificent how the light filtered through the layers of water. So she’d stay there until her lungs began to burn, and then a little while longer, marveling at the beauty of a whole different realm that excited so close and yet so far from her reach.

This was exactly what it felt like to be around Owen – like there was not enough air, and half the time she didn’t even know how breathing worked, and she _knew_ she needed to come up to the surface before she’d drowned, but she’d rather stay underwater because it was making her feel much more alive.

Inside the bungalow, Owen pulled back from her just long enough to get rid of his shirt, and then his hands were in her hair, framing her face, making her shiver under his touch, as he kissed her with reckless abandon – like she was his air, like she was his whole universe.

_Make me forget…_

If only she allowed him, he’d make her forget her own name.

A soft whimper escaped Claire’s lips when he trailed his way from her temple down her cheek and to her jawline until finding the pulse point on her neck with his mouth, all the while moving them towards the bed in the back. He lowered himself down onto it, and then caught her by the belt loops of her jeans and tugging her to him until she was straddling his knees, her palms landing flat on his chest and then sliding down his stomach, her fingers digging into his skin.

She caught his lower lip between her teeth, smiling as he sucked in a sharp breath and his muscles went rigid under her touch.

Owen’s hand ran along the stripe of exposed skin below the hem of her top, tugging at it until she raised her arms to let him pull it off and toss it aside. And then his mouth was on her neck, her collarbone, traveling down her chest, and along the cracks and ragged edges of the broken pieces of her Claire no longer knew how to hold together. And it was almost too much, like she was going to come undone any moment.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he whispered against her skin as his fingers worked to undo her bra – because as nice, as absolutely fucking _gorgeous_ as it looked on her, it was an item of clothing too many than strictly necessary at the moment. “It was such a torture to live with you all those months and not be able to touch you.”

Claire nuzzled his cheek. “If you did, I wouldn’t have stopped you.”

“Now you’re just making it worse, Ms. Dearing.” He chuckled breathily, but then she caught his gaze, and all of a sudden he didn’t feel like laughing. He fell down onto his back, taking her with him, and then rolling them both over, his hands pinning hers above her head, their fingers interlaced. “We might have to work extra hard to make up for all the lost time.”

“Like overtime?”

“And double shifts.”

“Hm. Run that by me again, Mr. Grady.”

\---

Claire woke up to the sun beaming in her face through the partly curtained windows, disoriented for a moment or two because it made no sense, seeing as how her suite was west-facing and normally—

She stretched and buried her face in a pillow, squeezing her eyes shut and willing herself to ignore the sun and the rest of the world, trying to hold on to the moment, to being so blissfully content it felt surreal. Except she was hungry. She was freaking starving. Last night, it turned out that Owen did actually have some crackers. And even cheese. And half a bottle of a really bad wine she nearly spat out after the first sip, although it worked out fine in the end. But that was about as much food as she had in 24 hours, and they did work up some appetite.

She rubbed her eyes, raw and sandy from lack of sleep, which meant it was still too early to be alive. A dream she was so mercilessly pulled out of still lingered at the edge of her mind, but she pushed it away, uncertain of whether or not she wanted to remember it. She seriously contemplated falling back asleep and quite possibly staying asleep for the next week or so – despite the fact that she had things to do, and her phone she turned off and left somewhere in the living room was probably exploding with messages and missed calls and God only knew what else, and she couldn’t help but start going through her to-do list for the day in her head. All this could wait. However, when she reached for Owen, his side of the bed was cold and empty, and it was only then that she realized it wasn’t the sun that woke her, but the smell of coffee coming from the kitchen.

Claire kicked off the covers, ignored her own clothes strewn all over the floor and pulled on Owen’s button-down instead. The _living-room-slash-dining-room-slash-kitchen_ was bathed in sunlight, warm and inviting – even more so with Owen standing by the counter wearing nothing but his pants (which seemed a bit too excessive for her liking) and humming something under his breath. Totally off-key, too. Claire padded towards him, feeling cool floor under her bare feet.

He turned to the sound of her footsteps, not bothering to tone down the wattage of his smile, and reached for her.

“Morning,” Claire murmured, pressing a kiss to her shoulder, then to his collarbone, and then finally tucking her face into the crook of his neck, her arms snaking around his waist. “What time is it?”

“Early.” His voice was sleepy and somewhat groggy, and it made a shiver run down her spine. She couldn’t remember the last time he was so relaxed and so at ease, and it truly was a thing to cherish. “That’s a nice look on you, Ms. Dearing. I mean, getting you out of your clothes was great, but getting you into mine is a special kind of treat.”

Clare huffed. “This ship, _Mr. Grady_ , has sailed a long time ago.” And, of course, he demanded to know what she was talking about, all righteous indignation. And she probably wouldn’t have buckled, but then he threatened to tickle her to death, which was a cheap shot and they both knew it, but suddenly a small confession seemed like the lesser of two evils. “You left your shirt at my place when you moved out,” she said at last. “I slept in it every night since.”

She was ready for a cocky comment (and she wouldn’t have blamed him for it either, because come on!), happy that he couldn’t see her face and her flushed cheeks, but he just stayed very still, with his heart _thump-thump-thumping_ loudly against her chest and his breath ticking the crown on her head and his fingers tracing lazy, soothing circles on her back. And Claire’s throat suddenly closed up, and she actually wished he said something light and silly, something that would make her roll her eyes instead of feeling like the whole world shifted underneath her feet.

“Well, maybe I left it on purpose.” His voice was low and raspy instead of teasing, and if it was supposed to be a joke, Claire couldn’t tell. A part of her wished he meant it.

“We should go back to the resort,” she told him after a little while.

“Yeah...” He muttered into her hair. “Do we, really?”

“Afraid so. Someone might notice we’re missing.”

Owen snorted. “I’ll give them a week.”

Honestly, she’d give them two hours at most. It was a miracle no one came running all the way here for her yet, although it had been quite a while now, and she knew this luck wouldn’t last.

“We do have time for a quick shower though,” she offered, brushing her lips to his neck, making a slow way up to his chin, scratchy with stubble but in a good way. “But you might need to show me how it works.”

He cupped her head with his hand, his fingers tangled in her hair, as his mouth found hers. “As long as you don’t mind a tight fit.”

The shower took a while (which she didn’t mind one bit), finding all items of her clothing – a while longer, and then they got distracted by coffee and a whole lot of other things.

By the time Claire hopped down the porch steps and headed for the bike, her phone was steaming, and she knew that had she kept the sound on, it would chime and chirp nonstop. She was going through the missed calls log while Owen made sure they turned off the lights and everything, and locked the door (which did have a lock after all) when something hissed and snarled behind her back, making her stop in her tracks. More puzzled than scared, she didn’t even have time to turn around and see what it was when Owen shouted, _“Claire!”_ and something smashed into her with enough force to knock all air out of her, throwing her against the picnic table.

**To be continued...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, this thing is getting long. I thought it'd maybe be 5 chapters long, at most, and yet here we are...  
> Comments are always welcome :)


	7. Chapter 7

_“Claire!”_

In the time Claire Dearing knew Owen Grady, she’d heard him sound surprised, annoyed, happy, lazy, bored, tired, irritated, furious, cocky, delighted, excited, mad, and probably a lot of other things. But she had never, _ever_ heard him sound this terrified.

In other circumstances, she’d probably take her sweet time to give it some proper thinking, but his warning came a second too late, and then something – a truck, by Claire’s rough estimation – threw her forward and against the picnic table, her ribs connecting with its edge as she lost her footing, failing to catch her balance and soften the impact. There was a crack, and Claire hoped against all hope it was the old wood, easily breakable after years and years of being exposed to the elements, and not her ribs, although with the sharp pain that shot through her body she didn’t dare to be too optimistic about it for the time being.

She whirled around and found a raptor’s snout not three feet away from her face, realizing with a jolt of surprise that she wasn’t, in fact, all that surprised. Not really. The animal was close enough for Claire to see two neat rows of razor–sharp teeth, and then her imagination helpfully supplied her with the images of what these teeth could do to her before she could so much as blink.

As if to prove her right, Blue – it had to be her, as far as Claire was aware - opened her mouth wider and emitted a high-pitched chirp, almost deafening from this close.

Owen leaped down from the porch in half a second flat, his feet firm on the ground, his posture half-crouching, defensive.

“Blue!” He barked, instantly claiming the raptor’s attention, making her shift her gaze from Claire to him as she tilted her head first to one side and then to another. “Stand down.”

His voice was firm and sharp, authoritative. They were on his ground – as far as the laws of the wild went, at least. Blue took a step back, then another, but her body was leaning forward, claws outstretched dangerously, threateningly. She didn’t retread – she was regrouping, reconsidering the options now that there were two of them.

Owen inched closer to Claire, moving slowly and cautiously, his eyes fixed on Blue, until he was standing between them, shielding her from the dinosaur.

“Claire?” He called out without looking back.

“I’m okay.”

Was she? Were _they_? There was an angry, possibly hungry and most definitely unhappy raptor baring her teeth at them, and, all things considered, it didn’t bode well for either one of them. In front of her, Owen stood stiff and still as a statue, his shoulders more tense than she could’ve imagined possible. She’d seen him do it before, but not exactly. The circumstances were different, everything was different, and a terrible thought entered her mind – if Blue decided to attack, he’d be the first one to take the hit.

She inhaled deeply and then let it out slowly, listening for the scratchy shift of her bones, but even though her body protested against the unnecessary expansion of her lungs, her ribs weren’t cracked or broken, and she had never been more relieved about anything in her life. Well, except that time when a crazy hybrid didn’t eat them, but it was ancient history now that something else wanted to do it.

“It’s okay. It’s going to be okay,” Owen said in a steady, assured voice, although it was hard to tell who he was taking to, exactly – Claire, Blue, or himself.

Not that he knew it himself.

He didn’t even really know how worried, how terrified out of his fucking mind he was thinking that Blue didn’t make it on her own. Raptors were by no means fragile, and millions of years of their existence on Earth proved it just fine, but she’d never lived in the wild, she’d never been on her own, never had to fend for herself, and even though she was vicious by nature, it didn’t mean she was safe. He’d learned it the hard way – no one was ever safe on this island.

She looked good, too. Healthy. In any other situation, he’d be beyond happy, he’d be freaking _ecstatic_ about finally – finally! – knowing that Blue was okay, that whatever happened to this place in the future, she’d be able to survive. Hell, he was proud, and not only that, but he could finally feel the weight of anxiety lift off his shoulders – the one he didn’t even know he was carrying all this time, ever since they’d left the island months ago. He’d seen her hatch, he’d watched her grow up. One didn’t just _get over_ something like that. Whatever everyone said, it mattered.

But she was a dinosaur, a Velociraptor, of all things. Owen loved her, but he didn’t trust her, not completely, even on the best of days, and today definitely wasn’t one of them. He was quite certain she recognized him, but whether she was going to listen to him or not was another story.

And then there was Claire, and as happy as he was to find Blue, right now his one and only priority was to make sure that Claire was safe. The image of her being tossed aside was fresh and vivid in his mind, and it was making his stomach roll and coil with fear. He had his 9mm strapped to his belt, but his tranq rifle was at the resort – he didn’t think to bring it with him seeing as how he just needed to whisk Claire away for a while; he didn’t plan on staying at bungalow overnight. And he was not going to shoot Blue with a gun, not unless he absolutely _had_ to, and he hoped it wouldn’t come down to it.

Blue chirped and craned her neck toward him, trying to peek over his shoulder.

“Hey!” Owen stood a little taller before her, his arm still raised, his eyes glued to her. “Cut it off!” She hissed at him. “ _Cut. It. Off. Now!_ ”

They needed to get out of here.

“Claire?” He called again, summoning all the willpower in the world to not turn around and look at her, make sure she was fine. “Did she hurt you?”

“No,” Claire replied.

Partially blocked from her by Owen, Blue kept sniffing the air and letting out short chitters and low growls, and Claire wished she knew what they meant. Her fingers closed around the edge on the picnic table, entirely ignoring the way it was digging rather painfully into her hips. She wanted to reach for him, grab a fistful of his shirt, pull him away from the _teeth_. But it didn’t seem like a good idea, so instead she stood there, paralyzed, barely breathing, hoping to wake up before something really bad happened to either one of them.

“Okay.” Owen shifted his weight from one foot to another ever so slightly. The plan was only half-formed in his head, but they seemed to be out of options. “Go to the bike. Slowly. No sudden movements. Stay calm.”

The skin on his neck prickled with the questions forming in her head and rolling on the tip of her tongue, but even though he could count the number of times she actually listened to him on the fingers of one hand, he knew she’d do exactly as told and save everything else for later, for better or for worse. And if he made the wrong decision, they’d both be shredded into spaghetti.

He heard the rustling of the grass under her feet as she moved, caught the slight motion out of the corner of his eye, and made his own cautious step back, and then another. Blue hissed and snapped her jaws at him.

“Knock it off, Blue!” He stopped, his voice loud enough to at the very least match the raptor’s aggression. She kept moving after him though, crouching and straightening up, growling, probably thinking it was a game. The one she probably imagined ending with him being her lunch.

Just a few more feet…

“We’ll have to move fast,” he warned Claire.

“Owen…” He voice was small and scared and miserable, and, God, he so wished her could fix this whole situation with a snap of his fingers.

“Do you trust me?”

She swallowed, hard, her mind racing a mile per hour. “Do I have a choice?”

No. No, she did not.

And then they were racing through the jungle, faster than anyone in their right mind should, considering winding muddy roads, with a dinosaur following suit. The roar of the engine when he started the bike confused Blue long enough to give them a head start, but he knew she couldn’t be able to resist the chase, and, much to his relief, she didn’t, even though it meant he had to break the rules of common sense and risk wrapping the bike around some tree or the other in his attempt to move faster than her. And it was only then that Owen realized he couldn’t remember if he left the door to the raptors’ cage open or closed the last time he went there.

_Shit, shit, shit!_

In the side mirrors, he could see Blue keeping up with them with more ease than he’d expected, and he pushed the bike forward, gripping the handlebars so tight he thought his skin was going to grow into them any moment.

The trees opened up, spewing them into the clearing before the paddock.

And the door was open, thank God.

Owen aimed straight for it, ducking low and hoping Claire did the same. A few more seconds, and they were inside, and so was Blue, chittering with what he hoped was excitement and not blood thirst. He’d have to think about it later.

He span the bike around the moment the animal entered the cage.

“Off! Out!” He barked, and without having to be asked twice, Claire let go of him and scrambled off the motorcycle and out the first gate. “Close the door. The red button.” Owen told her keeping his eyes on Blue who kept on circling him. “Claire, NOW!”

The moment he heard the wheels turn as the mechanism came to life, he revved again, spraying Blue with handfuls of gravel and dust to keep her back, blinding her for a precious moment he needed to save his own skin. And then he was out of the cage, missing the rapidly closing metal gate by half an inch, and then out the next one, with Claire on his heels as she ran out and activated the second lock. He skidded to an abrupt half and all but tumbled off the bike, leaving it on the ground.

He was beside her in a heartbeat, his hand on his face.

“Claire, look at me.” His voice broke. He was out of breath, and when he tried to talk, the words came out raspy and cut in half. “Look at me,” he repeated, and then her hand closed around his wrist, her eyes huge and frantic, her breath also short and shallow. “Are you okay?” She nodded after a brief moment of hesitation, as if it was taking her brain some time to figure out what he was saying. “Are you hurt?”

“No,” she shook her head.

“Good.” He pulled her close, holding her so tight he feared he might crush her bones, but unable to let go. “Good,” he breathed out when Claire wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his chest, shaking but alive and in one piece, and it was all that mattered for the time being. “You did good. You did _great_.”

“If no dinosaur attacked me ever again, it’d still be too soon.”

He pressed his lips to her hair, then rested his chin on the top of her head, trying to take one deliberately slow breath after another, his heart beating so fast it might as well be trying to break out of his chest. Behind them, Blue chirped and hissed, and he would take care of her soon, but right now, he just needed to know it was over.

Apparently, not having to run for their lives for two days straight was too much to ask for.

“You know, it still was a step up from our first date,” Owen murmured when her breath started to even out and her grasp on him grew less desperate.

“You can’t seriously call _this_ our second date,” Claire snorted, incredulous.

“’Course I can. I got whacked on a head, we took a ride through the park – and you liked it; there was wine, albeit a very bad one; we had sex, and _that_ was good.” He paused. “Sounds like a date to me.”

“And what does your getting _whacked_ on a head have to do with anything?”                               

Owen shrugged. “It was a cool dramatic element.”

Claire stepped back just enough to be able to have a better look at Blue who was watching them without blinking, her claws hooked around the metal bars of the cage. Claire’s hand found his, interlacing their fingers together.

“Because a dinner and a movie is just too mainstream with you,” she sighed, but there was a smile in her voice – the one she struggled to keep from slipping, but only barely.

Blue, on the other hand, bared her teeth and narrowed her eyes, clearly not finding her incarceration amusing, and even though Owen kept telling himself it was for the best, it still pained him to see her look so trapped, so obviously unhappy. She snapped her teeth at him, and he couldn’t help but wonder if she’d turn on him had the history repeated itself and she had another Alpha to follow.

“I guess I’ll have to introduce you properly later.” He tore his eyes away from Blue and turned to Claire. His hand pushed her hair from her face, his lips grazing her forehead for a moment. “Come on, we need to get Barry and a couple of handlers over here.”

\---

It took her another hour and a half to get back to the resort. Despite the fact that it unnerved Claire to be around Blue, especially after being thrown around by her like a rag doll, she still didn’t have it in her to ask Owen to leave his newly found raptor behind and drive her back, choosing to keep her distance while they waited for the cavalry to show up.

In her cage, Blue paced restlessly in front of the door, looking as cheated and insulted as a dinosaur could. Granted, there was a chance Claire was reading too much into it, her experience in actually dealing with those animals was practically nonexistent. But, unlike _before_ , she would never assume they were dumb and single-minded ever again, and even behind two doors, the raptor looked very dangerous and very _pissed_ , and she knew that, given a chance, she wouldn’t think twice before ripping their throats out.

Owen, on the other hand, was gleeful and seemingly oblivious to the dirty looks he was getting, either because he was happy beyond imaginable – which Claire could understand, sort of - or because he was used to them enough to dismiss the animal’s foul mood. Claire only hoped he knew better than to allow his arm to be chewed off or something.

When Barry arrived with the handlers and the vets, she commandeered one of their cars because, contrary to popular belief, this place was not running itself, and she actually had things to do.

(Things that didn’t involve being incinerated by the dinosaur’s stare, thank you very much.)

“That’s not what it looked like this morning,” Owen reminded her diplomatically, and arched an eyebrow when her cheeks flushed red because, of course, he was right, and had they not run out of hot water, that shower would’ve lasted much longer.

She pulled the door open, then paused and turned around. “Be careful, okay?” It felt like they had already exceeded their quota on care _less_ today.

“Scout’s honor,” Owen promised, and then, with one hand on the door and the other on the roof, he leaned in and pecked her on the lips, retreating quickly afterwards, before she had time to react, on, “You can kill me later.”

Claire slid into the car and took off without looking back to check who might have seen it – with her luck, everyone - unsure of whether she’d kill him or jump him the next time she saw him. Right now, both options seemed equally appealing. It was unprofessional, and unacceptable, and definitely frowned upon in a corporate environment, but she’d lie to herself, big time, if she said she didn’t want him to do it, corporate etiquette be damned.

The first thing that she saw in her suite when she walked in was two controllers from Owen’s Xbox hooked to her entertainment system lying on the coffee table. And for a while, she just stood there and gawked at them, trying to piece together what she was seeing and failing because, try as she might, she couldn’t remember how it happened, and yet now it was somehow was the most natural thing in her entire penthouse. And if she gave herself time and some thinking room, she’d probably scare herself into something ridiculous all over again.

“You overthink everything,” Owen told her once, months ago, while they were eating Chinese takeaway sitting cross-legged on the floor in her living room and trading food – her shrimps for his eggplant, his tofu for her mushrooms – with _Rear Window_ playing on TV. 

It wasn’t entirely untrue, except she called it _thinking ahead_. It was what got her where she was now, and, being a woman who clawed her way up the career ladder without any benefits or shortcuts, she was not going to apologize for it or admit she should’ve done something differently.

Except that one time when she basically washed her relationship with Owen down the drain before it even had a chance to develop into something because she mapped it all out in her mind, from the beginning till the end, certain that it had nowhere else to go but the way she saw it in her head.

So she left the controllers where they were and opted for a hot shower instead, standing under the scalding sprays of water until she could no longer feel the breath of the _T-Rex-I-Rex-Raptor_ on her skin; until she talked herself into not being mortified by what the future might bring anymore.

She spent half of the day in the Control Room, watching the feed from the raptors’ paddock with Lowery, chewing absently on the Cheetos he’d fished from the vending machine in the hall, and the other – poring over the budget report in her office, thinking she actually preferred the raptors.

It was almost 9 in the evening and she was on the phone with Masrani headquarters, going through the same figures and numbers all over again, when someone knocked on the door of her suite.

“No, of course I understand that,” she said , pulling it open and waving Owen in. “But it’s not the point. We’re staying within the limits, and the prognosis is good… Yes, we’ve discussed this already… Yes, I remember that.” She rubbed her forehead, pacing back and forth and wishing she could throw the phone out the window, go into her bedroom and scream into a pillow for about an hour. “It was necessary, and—Yes, of course.” Owen’s eyebrows crept all the way up his forehead when their eyes met briefly, but Claire simply shook her head.

He plopped down on the couch, but then reconsidered and moved to the bookshelf running along one of the walls to peer at the framed pictures scattered here and there, feeling his lips stretch into a smile on the will of their own.

The first time he stepped into her suite, it felt like walking into a closet and ending up in Narnia. Claire’s must have been the only room matching the living arrangement of Simon Masrani himself, or so Owen assumed, never having seen the latter. It occupied the entire floor of the hotel, had a generous living room that was quite possibly bigger than a piece of land claimed by his bungalow, a spacious bedroom, and a bathroom with what he’d been calling a mini-pool, absolutely refusing to refer to it as a bathtub. Hell, they could probably relocate the Mosasaurus there and she’d be completely comfortable. (Claire rolled her eyes when he voiced that idea, pointing out that she would not have a dinosaur living in her bathroom, whatever the circumstances.)

Although the most impressive thing about her residence was a panoramic view of the park from the balcony that could house a golf course, had she desired to have one of her own. He could see all the way across the island. Almost. Certainly all the way to the raptors’ paddock, hidden in the lush greenery. It was like she had her own Disneyland. No, scratch that – it was like she _lived_ in Disneyland!

Owen had been to her office a number of times before the _incident_ , as well as after. It was spacious, professional, and entirely impersonal. Her living quarters, much to his delight, were an entirely different story. There were books, much like in her condo in California, even though he doubted her schedule allowed her enough time for reading, and small knick-knacks that added a touch of Claire here and there.

And there were pictures.

Like the one of her and Gray on Gray’s 4th birthday, if the bright purple 4 on his party hat was any indication, both of them smiling so bright it almost hurt to look directly at their faces. Or the one of her and Zach with Zach, dressed in his Little League uniform, teaching her how to hold a baseball bat. (She’d told him already they were both taken shortly before she’d moved to the island.) And the one of her and Karen, from maybe 10 years ago, goofing around. Claire’s hair was longer then, falling on her shoulders and down her back in rich wavy waterfall, and his fingers itched to run through the entire length of it, feeling its silky touch to his skin. He had never seen her so luminous, and if he hadn’t already been falling hard, this whole new side of Claire Dearing he never got to see before would be his undoing. 

Owen leaned against the armrest of the couch, his eyes siding from one frame to another.

“Sorry about that,” Claire came over to him and dropped her phone on the cushions with a frustrated sigh. “What?” She asked, catching him study her pensively, his head tilted slightly.

“I wish you’d smile like that more often,” Owen replied, pointing to the picture of her and Gray.

Claire followed his gaze, her features relaxing. “But me chocolate cake and I will.” Which earned her a heartfelt laugh. “How did everything go today?”

He grimaced a little. “Blue’s a little unhappy about having her freedom privileges revoked, and she’s determined to make us all a little less happy, too.”

“But she’s… okay, right?”

Owen placed his hands on her waist, drawing her closer, claiming her undivided attention. “She is.” He nodded, searching her face. “Are _you_?”

Claire sighed, then pulled her shirt up a little bit, exposing a stripe of pale skin of her stomach and a ugly-looking red bruise under her ribs that she knew would soon turn all colors of the rainbow. Granted, it was a small price to pay for not being eaten, or having a broken rib, but it still hardly was the highlight of her day.

“Oh, shit, Claire…”

“It’s just a bruise,” she started to pull her shirt back down, but he didn’t let her. Instead, he tugged her closer to him and brushed his lips to the reddened spot, careful not to press too much, his breath tickling her skin and making her shiver. “She scared me,” Claire admitted if a little unwillingly.

“She wouldn’t’ve hurt you.” Owen muttered against her skin before looking up again. “I’d die before I let anything happen to you.” Deep in his eyes, she could see the storm brewing, and when he looked at her like that, it felt like he was looking straight into her soul.

Claire racked her fingers through her hair, slightly wet after the shower. “Don’t. I like you the way you are.”

He ran his hands along the waistband of her pants. “Do you need to forget about anything tonight? Or maybe make some new memories?”

Without another word, she cupped his face in her palms, her lips crushing against his…

\---

“You’re wonderful, Claire,” Owen whispered later, kissing his way up her back. “Do you have any idea how wonderful you are?” 

“Hey, it tickles,” she giggled sleepily, trying to squirm away from him, but not really, and sound of her voice, so soft and relaxed it sounded almost like a purr, had his stomach in knots for all the right reasons.

“Why haven’t we been doing this all along?” He asked, dropping the last one of her shoulder before finding her lips again and gathering her up in his arms until she was half-sprawled across his chest.

“You know why,” Claire whispered against his mouth before tucking her head under his chin, melting into his body.

 _It wasn’t the right time_ , he could all but hear her think, and even unspoken, the words sounded sour and wrong in his mind. Like they were tricked and cheated out of something they could’ve had from the start. He still couldn’t believe it took a psychotic and homicidal hybrid that slaughtered half of the island and traumatized the other, and months of being suspended between here and there for them to finally figure everything out. And it wasn’t that what they had now wasn’t worth the wait, but a part of him wished they took an easier shortcut early on.

Owen had long found out that it wasn’t about his board shorts, per se (“ _I’m not that shallow, Grady_ ”), so much as about the fact that they made Claire think he didn’t care about their date, which couldn’t possibly be farther from the truth seeing as how it took him 5 months to muster up enough courage to ask her out. Whereas her cocktail dress, designer shoes, and _itinerary_ , of all things, sort of proved that she was miles out of his league - which made it easier for him to assume that she was a stuck-up snob than to admit that his confidence went out the window the moment she said yes to his date proposal instead of laughing him in the face.

They’d discussed it once in detail over the beers, laughing at the absurdity of the whole situation (mostly because it was late and they were both a little drunk), and he spent most of the time staring at her lips and wondering what it would be like to just lean over and kiss her, wondering if she’d try to run away if he did. But then the moment was gone, and so was Claire – first to bed because it was almost 3 in the morning, and then to Wisconsin - and the next thing he knew he was packing his stuff and knocking on Barry’s door to ask if it was okay if he took over his couch for a few days.

The truth was, they had nothing but time, but they never used it wisely.

“We’re… something,” Owen breathed out, his fingers tracing lazy patters on her back, making her shiver involuntarily whenever he touched a particularly sensitive spot. He could probably spend the rest of his life holding her like this, and it still wouldn’t be long enough.

“A work in progress,” she agreed, brushing her lips to his skin, smiling when his breath caught in his throat. “Owen?”

“Mm?”

“I meant what I said earlier. No more risky stuff.”

“No swimming with the sharks. Noted.”

She slapped him lightly on the arm. “I’m serious.”

“Why would I joke about the sharks?”

She huffed, choosing not to respond to that, allowing her eyes to flutter closed at last and her mind to slip away. A work in progress was a major understatement.

\---

A week later, Owen was on the catwalk working with Blue while she was doing her best to ignore him and yet somehow get the treats when they heard the sound of approaching car. Instantly, she was distracted, listening to the rustling of the tires on the gravel and then the door being opened and slammed shut, and Owen glowered at her from above.

She kept on giving him hell ever since they’d found her, determined to test his nerves and patience like never before, and working with either one of them never was a picnic in the park to begin with. He wondered how much she understood about being sedated to have a tracker put under her skin, and how much she blamed him for it. If anything, he wasn’t naïve enough to assume it slipped her attention. Just how much trouble was he in for all of this?

There were the footsteps on the stairs leading up to where he stood, and he thought it was Barry coming to listen to him snarl about the countless hours spent here in the scorching sun and complete and utter lack of progress to show for it, but when he turned, he found himself face to face with Claire climbing the last few steps to the catwalk. She was wearing dress pants today, as opposed to shorts and slacks he was getting used to, and the high-heeled pumps that made him worried for a moment or two she’d teeter and topple over the railing in two seconds flat. She looked _professional_ , like _Claire Dearing_ , and it unnerved him for the reasons he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Which didn’t make him any less glad to see her.

“Hey,” Owen shielded his eyes from the sun with his hand, watching Claire approach, her eyes darting from him to Blue below them and back to him. “What are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d stop by, see what you guys are up to.” She looped her hair around her ears, squinting a little in the sunlight, and stopped beside him.

Blue let out a displeased growl, her eyes two narrow slits boring into Claire.

Owen leaned on the railing. “Well, we’re not exactly on speaking terms right now. Right, Blue?” He sighed. Then he lifted his hand up and pressed his clicker once, “Blue!”

She didn’t so much as turn to him. Instead, she made a restless circle around the clearing under the catwalk, sniffing the air and swinging her tail from side to side, more alert than minutes before but not at all focused.

“Did she really forget everything you’ve taught her?” Claire asked.

“Oh, she remembers everything alright. She’s just giving me the attitude.”

As if to prove him right, Blue lowered into a crouch, then snapped her teeth at them with a short bark, her eyes burning into Claire.

“Stop that,” Owen ordered automatically, pointing an accusatory finger at her.

“She really doesn’t like me, does she?”

He let out a short laughter, his hand running through his hair. “It’s not that.” He looked at Claire with the mischievous grin that bordered on downright smug. “She can smell me on you, and she’s… well, she feels threatened.”

She blinked. “Why? Shouldn’t it give me extra points or something?”

“It doesn’t work that way. She’s been her own Alpha for months, and now not only I took that away, but you’re kind of replacing her as a Beta.” He stole a sideways glance at her. “You can’t really blame Blue for being a little jealous. I know I can’t.”

Claire scoffed. “Great, that’s just great. I have my own dinosaur with a special grudge.”

Beside her, Owen chuckled and placed his hand on top of hers, squeezing it a little. She insisted they kept it low-key in public, and he wasn’t going to argue if that was what she wanted – he didn’t mind catching up on being entirely _un_ professional when they were alone.

“Look, if I get out of here earlier, what do you think if we—”

“They’re thinking about reopening,” Claire interrupted him, as if she needed to spit it out before she changed her mind, her eyes still cast down on the dinosaur pacing in agitation in front of her, not quite daring to look at him.

She felt him go rigid beside her. It was like the air around them changed, suddenly charged with tension rolling off Owen in thick waves. She never would have imagined it could be this palpable.

“You’re joking, right?”

She bit her lip, took a slow breath and willed herself to keep on going, no matter what. “They want me to start talking to investors again, and we don’t need investors for what we’re doing now.”

“But they didn’t say it, did they? About the reopening. They didn’t spell it out.”

There was so much desperate hope in his voice it splintered her heart.

“They didn’t need to.” She turned to him at last and slipped her hand from under his, taking a small step back, but the catwalk was too narrow, the stairs too close, making her freeze where she was.

Owen’s jaw was set now, his eyes narrowed slightly, his face dark and stormy. He was mad, or would be before she knew it.

“Are they going to start making hybrids again, too?” His voice was hard and full of accusation as if she personally chose to make this decision the first time around and now went for it again.

“No, I don’t think so. Not right away at least. They’re not that stupid.” Or so she hoped, at least.

“But they’re going need new attract—” He cut off, exhaling sharply as if the realization hit him like a sucker-punch. “Are they going to make _Blue_ an attraction?”

Claire looked away from him, allowing the silence between them to grown heavy and thick. “They might.”

It was his turn to take a step back, his shoulders squaring as if he was going to defend his last remaining raptor with his body if it came down to it, and Claire was fairly certain that he probably would, if it ever came down to it.

“No.” Just like that.

“Look, I’m not saying it’s a done deal…”

“But you think it’s going to be,” he pressed on.

“Maybe. Eventually.” God, she wished she had a better answer than that.

“And you’re just going to let it happen?”

He sounded disbelieving and hurt, and the unfairness of his angers directed at her made her own frustration go through the roof.

“What do you want me to do, Owen?”

“Tell them to fuck off, for starters.”

“Sure, and the next thing I know I’m fired and someone else is teaching those animals to jump through the fire hoops. Is this what you suggest I do?”

“So, you plan to watch it happen from the sidelines?”

“It’s not my park!” She retorted, folding her arms on her chest. “I don’t make decisions here.”

“That’s a nice excuse.” He let out a bark of a laughter, humorless and bitter. “Is this why you didn’t want me here, Claire? Because you knew it would all come down to reopening this place again?”

The question, uncalled for and undeserved, took her aback. “I didn’t want you here because I felt so guilty for everything that happened between us I couldn’t look you in the eye.” She tipped her chin up. “But I never lied to you, Owen, and I never kept any deep dark secrets from you. Why do you think I’m here telling you this now before they announced it on the national television?”

“Because we're sleeping together?”

Owen turned away from her when Claire flinched as if he slapped her, focusing his gaze on Blue again. As if sensing that something wasn’t right, she stopped pacing and was simply looking up now, her claws twitching slightly, and for a moment, he wished he could set her loose on whoever planned to turn her into a circus monkey.

“This is not fair,” Claire shook her head, trying to keep her voice from shaking. She didn’t think he’d turn it into something personal, and it hurt more than she was willing to admit. “What do you think is going to happen to this place if someone decides that it’s a liability?”

He whirled around. “Can you stop being a wheel in that corporate machine for 5 goddamn minutes and think of what’s best for them?” He pointed at Blue, glaring daggers at her.

“What do you think I’m trying to do?”

Owen pursed his lips. “I think you should go. I’m trying to work here, and you’re keeping Blue distracted.”

Without another word, Claire turned around and walked away, her heels clacking on the metal grating of the deck.

**To be continued...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, thanks for the comments and kudos and everything! You folks are amazing!
> 
> Second of all, I'd like to apologize for this entire chapter *hides forever behind the couch* I have no idea how it happened and I'm not proud of it. Especially the first part because I suck at writing action sequences. I'll try to make the next one better (or at least try)!
> 
> As always, comments are more than welcome :)) Only about 1000 days left till JW2, yay!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry it took me forever to write this - I kept getting too emotional at certain parts [insert eyeroll here maybe?]

_Because when she loves me, I can live forever_  
_When she loves me, I am untouchable..._  
_"Whatever It Is" by Zac Brown Band_

* * *

 

_“Claire, I’m sorry. Please, pick up.”_

_“Claire, please, talk to me.”_

_“Look, I was an idiot. Probably still am. If I were you, I’d never want to talk to me either... I’m not discouraging you from doing it, though. Please call me.”_

_“Claire, I’m sorry.”_

_“Would it help if you hit me with something heavy?”_

_“I miss you.”_

_“Claire…”_

\---

“And this is where the magic happens,” Claire swept the Control Room with her hand. “And by magic I, of course, mean keeping the park in check at all times.”

She turned to two men in expensive suits that probably cost more than this entire island who trailed  behind her, too busy keeping the smile plastered to her face to watch for their reaction and hoping against all hope they didn’t hear Lowery sicker behind her back and cover the sound with a cough. She made a mental note to throttle him later.

Masrani Global sent them earlier this morning to have her parade them around the place and sing serenades to the park and the island and the animals, and so on, and so forth. And even though it was literally the last thing on Earth Claire wanted to do, she gave them a proper tour and said all the right words and hoped she wouldn’t end up stabbing either one of them (probably with their ridiculously expensive pens, for lack of better options) by the time the helicopter was ready to take them back. The lab was, naturally, out of reach, but she took them to see the Mosasaurus and the aviary, although they were more interested in the reports and figures she could show for the previous years, until they ended up in what she affectionately referred to as the heart of the park (with an inward cringe because the _before_ Claire might have called the Control Room that way, but the _new_ one wouldn’t). 

It was almost nice in a way, easy. Like stepping into old comfortable shoes. She was in her element, although a part of her hoped they would never come back.

Steering them back towards the elevator, Claire was about to launch into a lengthy explanation of what they were doing there, exactly, mostly to fill the time with more meaningless words, knowing they didn’t give a damn, when a walkie-talkie sitting on Lowery’s desk cracked with static and a string of mostly unintelligible words. However, her ears perked when she caught ‘the T-Rex’ in the midst of utter gibberish, which made her freeze in her tracks.

A smile still spread across her face, she added more wattage to it for good measure and looked at her visitors again. “Excuse me, gentlemen, could you give me a moment? I’ll meet you in my office in a few minutes.”

They shrugged and nodded without protest, stepping into the elevator the moment it arrived, and as soon as they were out of her sight, Claire turned on her heel and marched up to Lowery’s workstation, telling herself that it was probably nothing and knowing that it was a lie.

“Yeah, I’m on it,” Lowery said into his headpiece.

“What’s going on?” She demanded, her voice tense and uncompromising.

“They’re bringing in the T-Rex,” he responded matter-of-factly.

“They’re—what?! Who authorized it?”

Lowery looked up at her. “I thought you did.”

Claire pulled out her phone, and cursed under her breath when it failed to respond to her manipulations, remembering belatedly she planned to charge it, but it obviously slipped her mind at some point. Annoyed at both herself and her goddamn phone, she grabbed a spare earpiece from the station next to Lowery’s. “What the hell is going on?!” She barked into it.

“ _Claire?_ ” Owen’s voice in her ear was soft and surprised, and almost pleading, catching her off guard. She was certain Lowery was staring at her, but she chose to ignore him, pointedly looking straight ahead at the digital map of the park.  

“What are you doing with the T-Rex?”

More static. More crackling. “ _We have to put her back in her paddock_.”

“No, you can’t—” Claire began, acutely aware of the fact that half of the park could hear them talk. She swallowed nervously, her mind racing.

“ _She made a move at the aviary.”_ In the background, Claire heard the rev of the engine, the shouts of the other people. _“I don’t need to tell you what’d happen if she tried it again and set the flying species free_.”

Claire pinched the bridge of her nose. “When did that happen and why didn’t anyone call me?”

Owen cleared his throat. “ _We did, actually_.”

Right. The dead battery. “It’s too dangerous.” She said firmly.

“ _Claire_ —”

“It’s not happening! I order you to leave the T-Rex alone immediately. No one is putting anyone in any cage.”

“ _You can’t do that_.”

“Like hell I can’t!” She snapped.

“ _No, I mean it’s too late_.” A pause. “ _She needs to be contained and you know it_ ,” Owen noted a bit too calmly for her comfort. “ _Wasn’t it the plan anyway?_ ”

Yes, it was, but it didn’t sound half as suicidal while it was just a plan, an abstract possibly, maybe-some-time-in-a-very-distant-future idea she kept in the back of her mind. The kind of thing one actively avoided thinking about because they simply didn’t want to. Not the kind of thing that was in motion and people were standing there ready to go, and she could barely stomach imaging it.

“No, it wasn’t the plan. Not like this, not when—” she cut off. “What are you doing, exactly?”

“ _You have to trust me to do my job, Claire. It’s not just me out here. It’s not safe, but it’s as safe as it will ever be. And I would never put anyone’s life in danger just for shits and giggles, and you know it_.”

“This is not what…” She began to protest, interrupted by the roar of the T-Rex on the other end of the conversation.

 _“Can we talk about it later? We’re kind of in the middle of something_ _here_.”

And then the line went silent.

“Owen? Owen!” She pursed her lips in frustration, then threw the earpiece back on the table. “I’m going there!”

“Um, Claire?” Lowery called after her when her finger already pressed the elevator button, her feet tapping impatiently on the tiled floor. “What about your… company?”

Oh, crap! She pressed a hand to her forehead. This day was making less and less sense by the moment, and it wasn’t even noon yet.

 _Screw them_ , was her initial reaction. She didn’t give a damn about the investors, about the reputation of the park, about Masrani’s opinion about her decisions, and a whole lot of other things that were kind of on the line now but also didn’t matter one bit. If the two suits currently staring at their handsets in her office got in a chopper and never came back, she would sigh with relief and move on with her life, whereas if someone died out there—

_You have to trust me to do my job. You have to trust me… Trust me…_

Claire turned around, looked helplessly at the useless phone in her hand, then at Lowery. The elevator chimed behind her back, she felt the air shift as the chrome doors slid open.

“Go back to your meeting,” Lowery told her. “I’ll find you if something goes wrong.”

Well, that was about the least reassuring thing she’d ever heard in her life.

“What are they doing?” She asked in a defeated tone.

He shrugged. “Luring her in.”

By the time Claire broke free and finally drove to paddock 9, it was late afternoon and the place was deserted, bearing no sign of whatever happened there house ago. She didn’t expect it to be any different, but it still struck her as odd. The cage was locked and secure once again, and she couldn’t deny being relieved at the sight of it.

She made her way into the viewing area, stopping a few feet away from the reinforced glass, still not trusting it as much as she’d like to even after all those years. It was so clear it might have not been there at all, and it unnerved Claire even more. It looked fragile, and she felt exposed despite the fact that the clearing before the window was empty. But the animal was there alright, somewhere behind the trees and the ferns taller than Claire. She couldn’t see her so much as feel the slight vibration of the ground and the observation tube under the weight of a 6-ton T-Rex moving around. _Thud, thud, thud_. Somewhat in sync with Claire’s hollow heartbeat.

She wanted to make sure the T-Rex was, in fact, back in her enclosure, but now she was glad the animal was out of sight.

The door behind her opened, giving Claire a start, and she turned around abruptly, her breath catching in her throat. If this place taught her anything, it was to always be prepared for the worst.

“Oh, sorry, Claire. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Hey, Barry.” She breathed out, mustering up a small smile, and praying she didn’t just make another step closer to an actual heart attack.

“I didn’t think anyone would be here.” He walked into the viewing room and stopped beside her, his eyes also scanning the greenery behind the glass much like hers did not a minute ago. “I take it you didn’t come to watch the feeding.” He said with good-natured amusement.

“God, no.”

Even the idea made Claire feel slightly queasy. Honestly, she’d be perfectly happy if she never got to see any of them eat anything, period.

“How did everything go today?” She asked eventually, trying to sound casual.

“Good,” Barry nodded. “She was as tame as a kitten.”

Claire let out a nervous snort. “Somehow, I doubt that.” She counted to five in her mind. “So… everyone’s okay?”

“Yeah, _everyone’s_ just fine,” he assured her with a soft chuckle, which made her happy the place was semi-dark and he probably couldn’t see the color rise up her cheeks. “For what it’s worth, it was my idea.”

She scoffed. “Nice try.”

They both fell silent for a few long moments, catching a glimpse of a movement ahead, but the T-Rex remained mostly hidden. Claire almost felt sorry for her. Like Blue, she must’ve not been too happy to be put back in her high-quality prison.  

“Hey, can I ask you something?” She started after a while.

“Shoot.”

Claire chewed on her lower lip uncertainly. “I know you’re here for the cleanup, but… if they reopen the park, do you think you’d want to stay? I mean, I know Owen detest even the idea, but he might still do it. For his raptor.” She glanced at Barry out of the corner of her eye, but her wasn’t an easy person to read. “You think you’d be up for a round two as well?”

Barry considered her question, standing with his back straight as a board and his hands clasped behind it. “They should just leave them be,” he shook his head after a while.

“This seems to be an unpopular opinion,” she muttered under her breath.

He sighed. “No military?”

“No military,” she promised – because if InGen so much as mentioned anything of that kind, she’d raise enough hell for them to need a decade to get through it, that much she could guarantee.

“I guess,” he admitted at last and shot her a cheeky smile. “It is a dream job after all.”

Claire laughed. “I’ll have to remember that.” She checked her wristwatch then, trying to recall what else was on the docket for tonight and how much she didn’t want to deal with it. “I should probably head back.”

“You sure you don’t’ wanna stay? I hear the T-Rex feeding is a very popular attraction.”

“Maybe some other time.” She responded with a straight face. “Like, never.”

It was Barry turn to laugh.

She was on her way out, her hand on the door handle, ready to pull it open and hopefully leave the T-Rex behind for the time being, when he spoke again, looking at her over his shoulder. “You know, if Owen’s going to stay, it won’t be for Blue.”

\---

_“Claire, I…”_

_“_ Mailbox full - please try again later.”

\---

There were things in life that no one was ever ready for – earthquakes, tsunamis, the consequences of the poorly thought-through decisions, taking the T-Rex for a walk in the park. The first three Owen was more or less familiar with, with varying degrees of intensity. The last one, he honestly believed no one in their right mind would ever be able to even begin to imagine. And yet, here they were, taking a page from Claire Dearing’s book and waving a dead deer in front of a hungry dinosaur, leading her back to her paddock and hoping she wouldn’t catch up with them before they got there and turn them all into a meal.

She roared, making the car shake. Beside him, Barry let out a short nervous chuckle and grabbed onto the door handle as the jeep jumped on the uneven road, splashing the wheels with the mud whenever they hit the puddles.

In Owen’s ear, Lowery’s voice told him once again that the paddock was open and ready. It was never a bad idea to check twice.

He remembered being woken up in the middle of the night several years back by a call from Wu summoning him to the lab because the raptors’ eggs began to hatch. Remembered racing across the park like it was a matter of life and death. Remembered standing by the incubator listening to the eggs crack, forgetting to blink or to breathe until he felt dizzy. For him, it never was about science, or military, or even _Holy hell, I’m working in Jurassic World!_ Not the way it was for Hoskins or even Simon Masrani. For him, it had always been about thrill.

This was why he was leading the T-Rex back to her cage, his hands holding the wheel tight enough to leave dents in it. He knew she would follow them, the way Blue did not so long ago – it was in her instinct to chase whatever was trying to run away. Their job was to play their cards right, and Owen hoped and prayed that they did – thrill or no thrill, he was not going to put anyone else’s life on the line, and they’d already had a fair share of that earlier today tracking her in the old park.

And this was, partly, why he ended up sitting by Claire door at 1 in the morning, staring at the wall in front of him and feeling world-weary like never before.

He hadn’t seen her since she stomped out of the raptors’ paddock almost 3 days ago. She wouldn’t pick up her phone, wouldn’t answer his texts, and up until now, Owen had no idea it was even possible to avoid running into someone on the island this small. It didn’t surprise him she found a way to do it, however. Actually, showing up at her suite was not something he thought was a good idea. It was one thing to _imagine_ her slamming the door in his face – and he wouldn’t have blamed her – and something else entirely to experience it, which he knew was more likely to happen than not.

Generally, he wasn’t the kind of person who tended to speak first and think later, but he wasn’t unfamiliar with the concept of occasionally ending up with his foot in his mouth. If he could punch himself for speaking to her the way he did a few days ago, he’d do it without thinking twice, the look of hurt and shock on her face burned into his memory. He’d seen it before, when the reporters shouted the questions at her – at the press conferences, in a court house, outside the Masrani Global headquarters.

_What’s it like to know you have hundreds of lives on your hands, Ms. Dearing?_

_What made you create a monster?_

_Who gave you the right to play God?_

_How do you sleep at night after everything you’ve done?_

He just ever thought he would ever be the one to cause it.

A click of the lock startled him, and when he turned, he found Claire standing in the doorway. She was wearing a loose t-shirt – his, if he was not mistaken – and her pajama shorts, and her eyes were tired and red-rimmed like she was crying, and his heart splintered at the thought.

“Were you going to knock?” She asked, leaning her shoulder against the doorjamb.

“Maybe. Eventually.” Owen admitted uncertainly. _I didn’t think you’d open_. “How long have you known?”

“A few hours, give or take.” She looked at the floor for a moment. “You weren’t exactly subtle.”

“Are we…” His throat felt dry as a sandpaper. “Are you talking to me again?”

“Depends.” She leveled him with a look. “Are you still using my past mistakes against me?”

“Claire…”

She stepped back into her suite, leaving the door open, and he scrambled hastily up to his feet, taking it as an invitation. Whatever it was, he was not going to pass on it.

Inside, the lights were dimmed. A plaid comforter lay in a heap on the couch. The air smelled of her vanilla-scented lotion, the smell so _Claire_ it was driving him insane.

“You could’ve died today,” Claire stopped in the middle of the room and turned to him, arms folded across her chest, voice full of accusation. “What were you thinking?”

Owen blinked, confused for a moment.

The T-Rex. Right. As for what he was thinking… well, he wasn’t. Not really.

“We had to put her back in her cage eventually,” he pointed out. “She wouldn’t be any less dangerous tomorrow, or a week from now. I wasn’t trying to go over your head, Claire, but there’d never be a perfect moment. We had to work with what we had.”

She huffed, frustrated and refusing to be convinced by his logic, and Owen couldn’t tell who she was angry at – him because of what he did, or herself because she knew it was necessary but didn’t want to admit it.

They looked at each other for a long moment, their faces distorted by the shadows, until she dropped her gaze, her shoulders slumping in silent acceptable, and it didn’t escape his attention that she kept at least five feet between them at all times, her body shifting whenever his did, which made his heart skip a beat.

“I’m sorry,” he blurted out when the silence grew too thick and loud to bear. “About the other day…. I was a jerk. I had no right to say the things I said.” His fingers ruffled his hair as he struggled to remember what he was going to say, but his mind was blank, the words he repeated a thousand times in the past few days gone without a trace. “There’s no excuse for it, and believe me, I’m not trying to justify being a complete moron. But… God, Claire, I’m so sorry.”

His voice dropped and broke as he waited for her to… to do anything. She kept staring at the wall to his left, and panic flooded him, helpfully suppling him with the possibilities of probably, maybe never speaking to her again if she kicked him out right now. Every wrong move, every wrong word felt like they could be the end of everything.

“I was out of line,” he continued hurriedly, chocking on the words that seemed to be too slow and not good enough. “I knew better than that, and I still— It wasn’t about you, and I had no right to bring us into this.” _There’s still an us, right?_ his mind screamed. “And I’m sorry for that, too.” The time stretched. “Please, say something.”

Claire let a long breath and turned to him at last, “Do you have any idea what it feels like to have the one person you trust the most take the worst thing you already think about yourself and shove it in your face?”

Yeah, maybe not this.

His face fell. She might have as well punched him in a stomach, and part of him wished she did – God knew, he deserved it. _This couldn’t be it, this couldn’t be it, this couldn’t be it_. “Claire…”

She caught her lower lip between her teeth for a moment, then allowed her arms to drop down to her sides and shook her head.

“Look, I get it.” She sighed. “The park didn’t quite work out like it was supposed to the first time around. Not to mention that you watched your raptors hatch, you watched them grow, and now most of them are dead, and you want to protect Blue. You love her, you’re worried. I understand that.”

Owen stared at her.

Yes, he loved Blue. But he was _in love_ with Claire.

The realization – so simple and yet so fundamentally profound – hit him with the force of an oncoming train, rendering him speechless and pretty much catatonic for a long moment.

How did he not see it before?

He was absolutely and irrevocably infatuated with her from the moment her saw her. Everything about Claire Dearing kept on drawing him in like a magnet, and he was more than happy to let it happen. Then, of course, there was the physical attraction, he wasn’t going to deny that – one would have to be blind not to feel it.

But it wasn’t just that – she was funny, and kind, and generous, and loving. She was the bravest person he knew, and when she laughed, it made his soul sing. He knew the exact number of freckles on each of her cheeks, and how she liked her coffee – two creams, one sugar - and that she loved Tom Hanks’ movies, and that she cried every night for a month because she honestly believed she single-handedly murdered everyone who died in the park _that_ _day_ , and that at sunset her hair look like a golden halo. He also knew that he could rip his own heart out of his chest and put it in her hands on a snap of her fingers.

And that he couldn’t bear the thought of screwing this up and losing her, again.

How the hell did this happen and why on Earth didn’t anyone tell him?!

“Owen?”

“Huh?” How long was he just standing there? Oh boy, he didn’t actually say anything out loud, did he? “Sorry, I—” _think I need a lobotomy_. “Did you… say something?”

“I said… I want this to work. Us. But if it’s going to be like that, I don’t think--” She hesitated. “I don’t understand what you want from me.”

“From you? I don’t want anything _from_ you, Claire. I want _you_.” Plain and simple. “It’s always been you. And if you want the park, fine. If you want a pink elephant, we’ll get you a pink elephant.” A beat. “But between everything else and you, I’d always choose you.”

She didn’t look mad, exactly. More like cautious. Unsure.

“I’d never ask you to choose.”

“Well, it’s too late for that. Not giving up, remember?” He offered her a small, sad half-smile, then ran a tired hand down his face. “Look, it’s – it’s… I have no idea what time it is. I should probably,” his gaze darted towards the door, “go.”

Claire followed his gaze, and then suggested after a brief pause, “Or you could stay.”

Owen froze, unsure if he’d heard her right, his hand still hanging somewhere near his chin. “Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t have opened the door otherwise.”

She folded her arms on her chest, exasperated, then muttered something under her breath – something that to his ears sounded like _Goddamn you, Grady_ – and stepped to him, her hand closing around a fistful of his shirt, pulling him toward her until his hands were on her shoulders and she was staring at his jawline. Mostly.

“And here I thought I’d have to grovel and beg.” Owen whispered with a shaky relieved chuckle. “I’m good at that. Especially at groveling.”

“Let’s do it, then. I could use some groveling.”

“Claire, I…” He swallowed uneasily, his heart hammering in his ears. “Listen, I probably can’t guarantee that I’ll never make an ass of myself again—”

“Yeah, that doesn’t sound likely.”

“Hey, I’m trying to apologize here.” Owen pulled back just far enough to push her hair behind her ears framing her face with his hands, his eyes searching her features.

“Go on. Is this where the groveling starts?”

The corner of his mouth twitched, his thumb running over her cheek. “You’re the one person in this world I wouldn’t want to hurt. And, well, this has been a bust so far.” He let out a long exhale. “I can’t lose you. You’re all I have.”

She bit her lip, then tugged at his shirt some more until his arms were wrapped around her and her face was tucked in the crook of his neck. “I’m fighting against the whole world now, Owen. I can’t be fighting against you, too.”

“I’m always on your side,” he mumbled into her hair, breathing in the ever-familiar scent of her lemongrass shampoo as her arm slipped around his waist, her other hand still holding on to his shirt for dear life. How was it even possible to miss someone so much after not seeing them for something like 60 hours?

“I need you to trust me,” she said after a while.

“I trust you. I trust you more than anyone else.” He brushed a kiss to the top of her head. “You’re the boss. You calls the shots.”

Claire untangled herself from his arms. “Can we talk for a moment?” She led him to the couch and perched on the edge of the coffee table in front of Owen, their hands still linked together between them. “This park belongs to Masrani.”

“I’m well aware of that,” he assured her.

“And the animals are the property of InGen. I need you to understand that.”

“Claire…”

“They’re not up for adoption, no matter how attached you’re to them.” She looked away for a moment, her expression conflicted.  “But I promise you I’ll never let the history repeat itself. And if InGen ever decides to go for _more teeth_ again, I’ll shut down this whole place before they can even say the Indominus-Rex.”

Owen grinned at her, his thumbs running slow soothing circles on the back of her hands, small and soft in his big and calloused ones.

“Can you really do that?”

“I know a few tricks,” she admitted with a sort.

His grin widened. “You’re a badass, Ms. Dearing.”

“And don’t you forget that, Mr. Grady.”

He cupped her cheek with his palm, drawing in until his mouth found hers and Claire willingly parted her lips for him on a soft sigh.

“Are we good?” He asked a while later, resting his forehead against hers, his fingers twisting through a lock of her hair.

“Are we?” She arched an eyebrow at him.

“We are." He caught her gaze, held it for a few heartbeats. "I'm so sorry, Claire. I'm so very sorry for being such an idiot."

"For what it's worth, you're my idiot," she made a face at him, making Owen smile.

"Wanna go to bed?”

She nodded and took his hand, stopping only to flick off the lights. “And, Owen?”

“Hm?”

He paused in the doorway to the bedroom, leaning against the frame, and gathered her in his arms until they were kissing again, until the entire length of her body was pressed against his, until her fingers were digging into his shoulders, and there was not enough air, and the world was spinning backwards, and God, what was that with that ridiculous smile? Except he wouldn’t trade it for anything else in the world.

“Between everyone else and you, I’d also always choose you.”

\---

She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, a laptop placed in front of her and a phone squeezed between her ear and her shoulder, her fingers typing away furiously, when Owen poked his head into the room, and then sauntered in and plopped down behind her, stretching across the mattress. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the sun hung low at the horizon, bathing everything in bright orange glow, its long fingers reaching hungrily for everything they could grasp. They called it golden hour for a reason.

“Yes, absolutely,” Claire said into the phone as she darted a quick look at him, receiving a wide grin in return. “Yes, I understand that.” Her fingers kept on flying over the keyboard. “Well, that’s another way to look at it… No, you’re right.”

Owen propped himself up on his elbow and brushed his lips to her bare shoulder. Claire swatted at him absently, but it got him to back off for barely half a second before he started kissing his way along her shoulder again, moving slowly towards her neck, smiling at the slight hitch of her breath and an instant stiffening of her back.

“No, that is correct,” she spoke, squirming away from Owen and trying to elbow him all at once, but it was a half-heated attempt and he dodged it effortlessly, disregarding her stern look entirely. “It’s not that simple…. Yes, but the thing is—” She faltered, choking on the words when his mouth landed on the pulse point on her neck. “Hold on a sec.” Claire pulled the phone away from her face. “Owen, what the—” She hissed.

He captured her lips with his when she turned, cutting her off in mid-sentence on a soft half moan, half whimper. His fingers tugged at a string of her halter top, then at the other, careful to avoid the soft curling wisps of hair that escaped the sloppy bun on the back of her head held together—wait, was that a pencil?! How on Earth was it even possible for a pencil to look hot, he had no idea, but Claire managed to accomplish that, and he wasn’t even surprised.

“Can you call them back?” He whispered between two lingering kisses.

“Uh-huh,” Claire mumbled incomprehensibly. “Yeah. I just…” She took in a steadying breath, her cheeks flushed. Then cleared her throat. “Gray, honey, would you like to talk to Owen?”

Owen’s eyes bulged out, his smug grin falling from his face, and the next thing he knew she shoved her phone at him with a triumphant megawatt smile and leaped off the bed, catching her top just in time before it slipped down and tying the strings behind her neck again.

He gave her a wounded _How could you?_ look and fell on his back on, “Hey, buddy,” scrubbing his hand down his face and letting out a long breath while Claire paused by the vanity table to take off her earrings, only barely recognizing the woman looking back at her from the mirror.

“That was a cheap move,” Owen told her a few minutes later.

“Well, that’s what you get for trying to undress me while I’m working.” She pointed out, catching his gaze in the mirror.

“Please! You didn’t mind that much,” he wiggled his eyebrows at her. “It's not may fault that lotion of yours is doing things to me. And, by the way, what happened to not working on the weekends?”

Claire turned around, an eyebrow arched. “And where did you just come from, exactly?”

“That’s different. That T-Rex of yours wouldn’t just feed herself, now would she?”

“Excuse me?” Her jaw dropped. “ _That_ T-Rex? Of _mine_?”

Owen blinked. “You should see your face right now,” he told her solemnly.  

“You should’ve seen yours 5 minutes ago,” Claire snorted.  

“Hey, I’m serious.” He caught her hand and drew her closer until she sat down beside him, one leg tugged under her. “You need a break.” He removed the pencil from the knot of her hair and let it fall loosely over her shoulders, allowing the fading sunlight to get tangled in it. “A change of scenery.”

“We tried that, remember? _Let’s have a walk in the park, Claire. It’ll be fun, Claire_.” She made a face and scratched a scatter of mosquito bites on her arm near her elbow.

“It was fun,” Owen disagreed, shifting to drop a few small kisses on the red dots on her skin.

Claire scoffed. “For about five minutes.”

“Regardless. You’ve been dragging those money bags all over the park all week. You deserve a timeout.”

“Those ‘money bags’ keep that T-Rex of _mine_ fed,” she reminded him. “And I know you’re not happy about it—”

“It’s not that.” Owen pushed himself up until their eyes were on the same level. “It’s that _you’re_ not happy about it.”

She frowned at him, confused.

“Look,” he sighed, “I know you’re doing all this because you think it’s the right thing to do, and you have no idea how much I admire that about you. And I’ll back up any of your decisions, Claire, no questions asked.” His eyes searched hers. “But you’re stressed out and on edge, and half the time you look downright terrified, and if that’s the case, I’m not sure it’s worth it.”

“It’s not that simple, Owen,” she protested, but it came out weak and unconvincing even to her own ears, making her cringe.

“Yes, it is. You don’t owe this park or Masrani a damn thing. You’ve already paid your dues - when you dodged the reporters outside of your house for months, when they dragged your name across every news channel in the country, when the court put every single one of your decisions under the microscope and turned them inside out.” _When you cried yourself to sleep_ , he wanted to add, but the image was too raw and fresh before his mind’s eye, and the words felt foul in his mouth. “And now you have every right to tell them to go screw themselves and walk away and never look back.”

“Yeah. That sounds like a smart career move.”

“Hey, I’m not trying to talk you out of anything, but to hell with career. To hell with everything. I don’t want you to be doing this because you feel guilty or trapped ‘cause it’s not going to do anyone any good.”

Man, she hated it when he was so obviously, so undeniably right.

Except it wasn’t just that, not really. She did feel responsible and guilty, and a part of her knew it was not likely to go away anytime soon, if ever. But more than that, she wanted so bad to make it right the second time around. Sure, it wouldn’t bring back those who died because of the decisions she was at least party accountable for, no matter how much she wished she could fix it, but maybe she could make certain it never happened again, and it was worth it, very much so.  

It wasn’t about her career. She liked it, she liked what she was doing, and she liked knowing that if she tried hard enough, she could make a difference.

And she told him as much, finishing on, “Did it ever occur to you that maybe I’m terrified because I expect you to take off on the next ferry and never look back?”

Owen stared at her for a long moment, his mouth all but hanging open. “Come again?”

Claire scowled at him. “Well, maybe I don’t want you to be doing anything for the wrong reasons either,” she said if a little defensively. “And if _you_ ’re feeling guilty or trapped…”

She trailed off at the sound of his laughter, open and heartfelt. “Jesus, Claire, for someone so smart you can be so clueless.”

He brushed her hair away from her forehead, allowing his fingers to trace the whole length of her fiery curls as he kissed her temple, her cheek, the tip of her nose, before pressing his mouth to hers again and stealing her breath away, unsure of how to put into words that no reasons ever seemed more right to him. It wasn’t just her, but even if it was, she’d be more than enough for as long as she wanted him, too.

He tugged at the strings of her top again, and this time, she didn’t stop him.

“You know, I have another idea for the whole change of scenery thing,” Owen murmured, pulling it over her head, and dipping his head again to trail a string of kisses from her ear and down to her collarbone.

“Hm… I’m listening.”

Their hands were no longer hesitant, their movements no longer rushed. “Claire,” he whispered into her neck like a prayer as her nails dug into his skin. _Mine_ , his mind sang. _Mine-mine_ , his heart echoed, the words forming and dying on his lips, so small and trivial compared to something big and warm and wonderful growing in his chest.

He’d been working with dangerous, deadly predators for years without batting an eyelash, but this thing with Claire was more terrifying than anything he’d ever encountered in his life, and he was freaking out like never before. Plunging into this relationship was like stepping off the cliff blindfolded, not knowing it he was going to hit the soothing waves or the razor-sharp rocks underneath. But what to someone else would feel like a fall, to Owen felt like flying.

He didn’t miss the sharp intake of her breath when he pressed a kiss to her inner thigh, his name falling from her lips in a quiet pleading, setting his blood on fire. This was worth living and dying for, and hell if he was going to not hold on to every moment of it.

\---

The buzzing of his phone on the nightstand jolted Owen awake in the middle of night, breaking slowly through what seemed like a good dream at the time. Beside him, Claire grunted something and buried her face in her pillow, and just for a second or two, it looked like a good plan – a fucking good plan, at that. But it could’ve be something serious (and on this island, it hardly ever was anything but) and his mind was wide awake anyway, even though his body mostly didn’t like it. And so he reached for the vibrating device, rubbing the sand out of his eyes with another hand while planning a slow and painful death to whoever was on the other end of the line.

‘”It’s okay, I got it,” he whispered to Claire, kissing her shoulder, and then into the phone, “Grady,” his voice was low and husky, and he’d never wanted a phone call to be a prank or a mistake more in his life. “Yeah…” He jolted upright then and barked, “What do you mean, a raptor attack?!”

**To be continued...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you guys so much for sticking around! I can't even begin to say how much it means :D Um, there's still plot in there somewhere, I'm about 70% sure of that. Just.... hang on there, okay? It's almost over :)
> 
> Comments and stuff are always welcome, of course :)) Stay tuned for more!


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, I added some plot! Yay! 
> 
> Also angst. Like, ALL of it. Be warned and proceed with caution!

Hopping into his pants in the dark while being half-asleep was a trick in and of itself. Doing it while trying to hold his phone with his shoulder, listening to the words that seemed to be bouncing inside of his head without registering properly and wondering if maybe he wasn’t awake after all was, indeed, an experience of a lifetime.

He was suddenly overcome by a sense of déjà vu – in the weeks following the Indominus incident, he would sometimes catch himself waiting for this nightmare to end, because surely it couldn’t be real. He kept expecting the world to shift back into place, for him to wake up in Claire bed instead of on her couch, to the smell of fresh coffee coming from the kitchen instead of the sound of her crying in the bathroom, thinking he couldn’t hear. Day in and day out. Lather, rinse, repeat.

And now he couldn’t help but feel the same way because, once again, nothing was making any sense.

“I’ll be right there,” he said into the phone, and by the time he hung up and turned around, Claire had already found her shirt and was zipping up her jeans, moving with the military efficiency and precision, which was impressive, given the circumstances. But then again, he should’ve probably stopped being surprised by anything she was capable of by now.

“You should stay here,” Owen began automatically, but she just gave him one of her signature _You’ve gotta be kidding me_ looks and reached for her tennis shoes, forgoing the heels for once (much to his relief), and her phone, so he just nodded, knowing it was a lost battle before it even began. She wouldn’t be Claire Dearing if she chose to sit out yet another major crisis instead of jumping right into it headfirst.

By the time they were out of the suite and waiting for the elevator, she was already on the phone, waking up Lowery and telling him briskly to go to the Control Room and pull out the footage from the raptors’ paddock for the last few hours. And one had to really know her to recognize that the edge in her voice came from panic and not annoyance.

They reached the ground floor just as the doors to the second elevator slid open and Barry all but fell out of it, still in the process of strapping the holster to his waist. He was followed by the woman Claire knew worked for InGen who looked comfortably familiar with him, and just for a heartbeat, the gears shifted in her brain, pushing the midnight calls and everything else out of the way - because when did _this_ happen?

Except it wasn’t the best time to think about this.

“I’m going to the paddock,” Barry told Owen, his eyes flickering briefly to Claire, but when the raptors were involved, it was just between them, and she chose to let Owen call the shots as he pleased.

She saw a shadow of hesitation cross his face, but his eyes darted toward her, and he nodded. “I’ll be there soon.” And once outside, he followed her instead of Barry.

The First Aid station was a 10-minute walk away from the hotel, at most, but they took the car anyway on the off chance they might need it later.

“She didn’t do it,” Owen said as they rounded the Mosasaurus’s pool gleaming in the night.

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re thinking it.”

Claire bit her lip, glancing out the passenger window for a moment. “She’s a wild animal, Owen.”

“Well, just because she—”

“Just because she attacked me doesn’t mean she would attack someone else?”

“That sounded better in my head.” He admitted with a wince and pulled the car to a stop.

“Let’s just find out what happened.” She pushed the door open.

Inside the First Aid station, all lights were on, making the already painfully white walls even whiter.

“And here’s the cavalry,” Maxwell said when they simultaneously opened the double doors and stepped inside without turning to them.

“What is it?” Claire breathed out.

The man sitting on the cot before them looked only vaguely familiar to her. She saw him among the other InGen people before, but never spoke to him, as far as she could recall. He was stripped from the waist up, his cargo pants all but shredded to pieces, his hand pressing a bloodied towel to his head.

“Two lacerations – left shoulder and left thigh, multiple puncture wounds of unidentified source, a broken rib, and quite possibly a sprained wrist. Still working on the last one. Concussion still pending.”

“No, what happened to cause all this?” She swallowed, hard.

The sight of blood combined with the thick smell of antiseptic hanging in the air was making her all kinds of queasy, and she tried to look anywhere but at the needle in Maxwell’s hand, trying not to imagine what he was about to do with it. She was standing in this brightly lit room, but before her mind’s eye, all she could she was the dim hangar in the docks and body bags in the far corner. The air smelled the same.

The man winced. “A raptor.”

Owen’s jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed slightly, and she knew he was about to disagree as strongly and as vocally as possible.

“Ms. Dearing, you’re aware I’m not a surgeon, right?” Maxwell piped up just then, throwing a quick look at her. “I’m not a people physician at all.”

“And we really appreciate everything you’re doing here,” Claire assured him apologetically, still working on maybe not passing out. Not running away. “So, about that raptor—”

“It wasn’t a raptor,” Owen said immediately.

Claire’s hand landed on his arm. “Just walk us through it,” she asked the man.

“She jumped out at me. I fired my gun. She took off.”

He was anything, but inefficient.

“You shot my raptor?!” Owen snapped.

“She was going to eat me, Grady!” The man retorted, and for a couple of seconds they just glared at one another.

“What the hell were you even doing in her paddock to begin with?” Owen demanded.

“Her paddock? It happened in the North-East sector, near the river.”

Owen frowned. “In the forest? That’s not possible.”

Except it obviously was, and the thought made Claire’s skin prickle. “Where, exactly?”

“About two miles away from the resort, not far from the aviary.”

“I can’t believe you shot my raptor.” Owen shook his head, and was about to add something else, but this was when his walkie-talkie crackled and hissed to life until Barry’s voice broke through. “ _Owen?_ ”

“What’s up?”

He stepped back, towards the exit, and Claire followed him more on instinct that anything else.

“ _She’s here_ ,” Barry said.

“What?” He frowned.

“ _She’s here, Owen. She’s in the cage.”_

They both looked at Maxwell and his charge, at the blood on the floor and a pile of crimson-colored gauzes, at the clothes that were clearly cut off the man’s body to allow the vet to have a better look at his wounds.

“Are you sure?”

“ _I’m looking right at her. I couldn’t be any more sure_.”

“I’m coming over,” Owen said at last, his voice tense and his brows furrowed. “This doesn’t make any sense,” he muttered as he and Claire climbed back into the car five minutes later after she called in for a chopper upon Maxwell’s request since the man needed a more professional help than they could offer in the First Aid station equipped mostly to deal with sunburns and mosquito bites (seeing as how the dinosaurs were never meant to roam wildly around the park in the first place), talking more to himself than to her.

“Could she have escaped?” Claire asked nonetheless.

“Escaped? Not impossible.” Owen started the jeep. “Climbed back in? Highly unlikely.” He glanced at her. “I’ll take you back to the hotel.”

Claire shook her head. “The Control Room.”

He looked at her quizzically, but didn’t protest, steering the car instead in the right direction.

“It wasn’t a raptor then,” she offered after a little while, thinking he’d jump right on board with the most logical explanation she had at this point, but instead, his frown only deepened.

“People who work here usually know what they’re talking about.”

To that, she had no response.

Claire had never been the one to resign to premonitions or the ‘feeling’ that something was off, but whatever was going on now had the fine hair on her arms stand up for the reasons she couldn’t put her finger on just yet.

They drove in silence, but when Owen pulled up to the grey, inconspicuous building housing the Control Room – one of a few left of the old park and actually in use – and she pushed the door open, he caught her by the arm. “Hey.” And when she turned, his hand slipped around her neck, and he kissed her, hard. “Take care, okay?”

“I’m not the one who’s going to deal with a raptor,” Claire reminded him, struggling to keep her voice nonchalant, and failing, mostly.

In the red and blue light of the dashboard, Owen’s face looked dark and almost unfamiliar, his eyes haunted and odd. She could feel his breath falling on her skin, a comforting sensation, but it also seemed like he was right there with her, in that ‘not quite understanding’ that something was off, and it unnerved Claire. She needed at least one of them to have it together, terrified of the alternative.

“I’m serious,” he said softly.

And she was _this_ close to telling him to go back to the hotel so that she could barricade both of them in her suite until the sun came up and chased the shadows away. Her heart was hammering so fast she could barely breathe. For the person who didn’t believe in anything she couldn’t see or touch, she was way too aware of having someone’s eyes on her, staring from the dark. She wanted to at least ask him to stay with her, not to go anywhere, but the words died on her tongue, and the next thing she knew, she was promising him not to wander around alone, and then she was out of the car and heading for the door, pulling her magnetic pass out of her pocket of her jeans. The lock clicked. The tires of his car screeched on the asphalt behind her back.

It took her and Lowery a couple of hours to go through the footage from the raptors’ paddock, finding no proof of Blue not being in it for any amount of time. She kept on circling her cage, popping up before one camera or the other. The images were dark, but the lithe form of the raptor was unmistakable. It almost skipped Claire’s memory that Blue had an implant now, and when she finally remembered that and told Lowery to place the animal on the map, the signal, unsurprisingly, came from her cage, although whether she was more relived or confused, Claire couldn’t tell.

It was almost 5 in the morning and the sky was getting grey at the horizon, when she finally stepped into her room again, feeling like she’d been up for a thousand years instead of 4 hours.

Claire’s lips twitched against her will at the sight of Owen sitting on the couch, fast asleep, his head lolled slightly to his shoulder. She padded softly across the room and knelt by the side of it, her arms folded on the armrest. She couldn’t recall the last time he saw him so at peace, the nearly ever present frown smoothed out of his forehead. He looked younger. Unguarded. Her chest tightened with the sudden rush of affection that surged through her, so intense it almost hurt.

She brushed her fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his forehead.

“Owen?” He jolted awake at the soft sound of her voice, eyes snapping wide. “Hey, easy, it’s me.”

He blinked once, twice, as if he wasn’t quite there for a moment or two before his eyes focused on her face, his lips tugging up at the corners ever so slightly. He ran a hand down his face. “I wanted to wait up for you.”

Claire laughed softly. “Mission half-accomplished.”

He caught her hand and kissed the back of it before putting it to his cheek, his gaze making her heart go _thump-thump-thump_ in her ears. Christ, what had she gotten herself into? Her fingers curled around his – a reflex, really – as she caught him up briefly on her uneventful time in the Control Room, and he returned the favor by confirming that the raptors’ paddock remained locked and secure, Blue surprised but not quite impressed by their midnight visit. They checked the whole cage and found nothing out of the ordinary.

“I told you it wasn’t her,” Owen said.

Claire sighed. “You did. And now the question is – what the hell was it?”

\---

Claire Dearing’s most notable – and most infuriating, according to her sister – trait was, perhaps, her determination to always get what she wanted. Harvard? It wasn’t even a challenge, truth be told. An internship in the most prestigious company in the state afterwards? They didn’t even think twice. Flying up the corporate ladder in Masrani Global? Sweat, blood and tears might have been involved at some time or the other, but she’d never admit it to anyone.

Minor setbacks were okay. Complete lack of progress, on the other hand – not so much.

She absolutely hated hitting a brick wall.

“Wow. When you said you wanted to raid Wu’s office, I didn’t think you meant ‘raid’.” Owen whistled, stepping into the room that looked like it was hit by a tornado not 5 minutes ago.

“I didn’t do it.” Claire’s head popped up from behind the desk she was currently going through – all drawers pulled out, their contents in various stages of being examined. “Not all of it.” She blew a strand of hair off her face. “Are you going to help or not?”

“Okay,” he crouched down beside her. “What are we looking for?”

She tossed one folder aside and picked up another one. “All assets—” she cut off and offered him a small apologetic smile. “Sorry, I’ve been reading those old reports all morning. They’re starting to get into my head.”

Owen pulled the folder out of her hands, his eyes scanning several paragraphs of solid text. “Just tell me, what is it?”

She drew in a breath. “Every _animal_ created in this lab was accounted for. If I can find any discrepancies, then maybe—”

“Wait, you think there’s another dinosaur out there we don’t know about?”

She might have as well told him they were looking for an alien.

“Do you have any other ideas?”

“And a raptor, too?” He pressed on, dubious.

“That I can’t tell.” Her face hardened, and he saw she’d been stewing in it for quite a while now. “For all I know, it can be part monkey, park alligator.”

“Crocodile.”

“What?” She looked up, puzzled.

“There’re no alligators on this island, only crocodiles.”

“Technicalities,” Claire huffed, making him let out a soft laughter.

Owen observed the mess around them. “You don’t really think they’d’ve left something like that behind, though. Do you?”

“I don’t and they didn’t.” She rubbed her eyes tiredly, sick of the unnecessarily bright fluorescent light that gave everything an unpleasant grey undertone. “But I hoped Wu would have copies stashed somewhere.” She sighed as she swept piles of useless documents around her with her glance. “Which starts looking like a really weak theory.”

“Hey,” he reached for her hand. “Whatever it is, we’ll figure it out.”

Claire bit her lip, refusing to meet his eyes. “This is exactly the kind of thing we can’t afford right now, Owen,” she breathed out, looking somewhat deflated and helpless by the moment. “Someone’s already been hurt, and I can’t let it happen again, but I don’t even know where to start because everything here was such a huge goddamn secret, and—”

“Wait, Claire. Stop it.” He sat cross-legged in front of her. “You’re not _letting_ anything happen. None of this is your fault.” Which she knew was not true, not entirely, but he sounded like he believed it, but she couldn’t quite tell if it was helping or making everything worse. “You really need to cut down on this God complex, you know? You can’t be responsible for everything that happens everywhere at all times.”

“This is the worst pep-talk ever,” she pointed out, somehow unable to hold back a small smile. “And yet it’s working, for whatever mysterious reason.”

“I know my audience.” And if he could look even more smug, Claire honestly couldn’t imagine how. “Look, I might still have some paperwork left in my bungalow. It’s just about the raptors, though, but I could go fetch it for you if you think it’d help.”

Claire nodded. “Yeah, that… I’d really appreciate it.”

“And in the meantime, I could have a look at the footage from the North-East sector from the last night and see if anything pops up,” he offered.

“We’ve done that already,” she grimaced. “That area is only barely covered by any kind of surveillance, what with it being a forest, but I was half sleep and…” She inhaled deeply and lets it out slowly. “Yes, that would help.”

She felt tired to her bones. So tired she thought she could fall asleep and stay asleep for about a century. Up until now, she couldn’t even imagine that thinking could hurt so much, that keeping her eyes open could be a monumental effort requiring a hell of a lot of concentration, that she could feel crushed under the weight of the world.

No, she didn’t actually think she’d find anything in Wu’s office when she came here a few hours ago, but ‘Thorough’ might have as well been her middle name, and doing something useless felt just a teeny-tiny better than doing nothing at all. She _had_ to give it a go. Had to see it for herself after being kept in the dark for so long. It was unsettling to think how much she didn’t know about the park she was responsible for.

Owen grinned. “And now, would you like to set this place on fire?”

Claire smacked his arm with the papers she was holding. “Don’t you even—”

Her phone started to ring, cutting her off, Karen’s name blinking on the screen as it chirped. She reached for it instantly.

“Hey, Karen. How’s it—” Claire started and faltered, a deep frown creasing her forehead. “Wait, what? ... Slow down, I can’t—They did WHAT?”

Ignoring Owen’s quizzical face, she scrambled up to her feet and hurried out of Wu’s office, her lips pursed into a thin line as she listened to her sister, her eyes blazing with that murderous glint he was happy to have never seen directed at him.

“I’ll call you back, okay?” He heard her say before she disappeared up the stairs leading to the main Innovation Center area.

By the time Owen made it there, she was standing by one of the digital displays, yelling at someone.

“…I don’t _care_ how it happened, Andrew!” Claire’s voice was ringing with only barely suppressed anger, and the mysterious Andrew clearly had no idea what he’d gotten himself into. “You promised to keep my family out of it and—I don’t care whose fault was it! ... Do you have any idea—I don’t give a damn about your campaigns. If you can’t keep track of your own people, it’s not my problem.” She rubbed her forehead. “Yes, you _are_ going to do damage control, although I don’t see how it is relevant now.” Claire closed her eyes for a moment as if trying to regain her composure, then snapped them open, seemingly even more furious. “No, I’m not going to talk my sister out of suing you if she decides to do it!” And hung up and muttered, “Jackass.”

“What did they do now?” Owen stepped closer to her, his hands running up and down her arms until she stopped shaking, although whether it was rage or distress he couldn’t tell at once. Maybe both.

“Someone leaked online the footage from the Main Street. From _that_ night. And Zach and Gray were caught on camera, and now it all started again – they’re in the highlight, and there’s press, and no one would let them be, and Karen wants to switch the schools, but I don’t see how would that make sense – it’s not like the other people don’t watch YouTube.” She paused to catch a breath. “And now they’re telling me it’s all ‘under control’, and I just—” She exhaled sharply. “Zach and Gray… they’ve already been through so much, Owen. Their lives _just_ started getting back to normal, and now it’s…” Claire shook her head, looking helplessly at him. “I have no idea how to fix it.”

“Hey,” he squeezed her shoulders gently. “You don’t have to fix anything. Let your sister sue their asses. Stop trying to protect the company that keeps on screwing you over and over again, Claire.”

“I’m just trying to do what’s right,” he voice was small, her entire form somewhat deflated. “Back then as well as now. And if I don’t, it’ll all go to hell. This park, this island—”

“So what if it does? Let it! Maybe you should start thinking about what’s right for _you_ , for a change.”

There was logic behind his words, solid and undeniable, and so scary she didn’t even dare venture in that direction.

“I need to do this, for me.” She said simply. “I need to finish what I’ve started so that I could put all this behind and move on with the rest of my life.”

“This isn’t life,” he shook his head. “It’s a project.”

“It’s the only life I have.” The words were out of her mouth before she even realized how true, how accurate they were, and when she did, the thought left her scared and desperate and more lost than ever before.

He studied her face for a few long moments, his own expression unreadable, save for the slight curve of his lips, which she wasn’t sure was humorous. His touch was warm to her skin, but she still couldn’t stop shivering.

At last, Owen sighed. He dropped his gaze down to his feet, then swept the place – whatever was left of the Innovation Center, with its shattered information screens and discarded fossils lying everywhere and a layer of broken glass on the floor – with a long look, before meeting her eyes again. “I’ll try not to take it personally.”

\---

She was caught in the darkness again, black and stifling, so black it seemed to have sucked out not only the light from everywhere around her, but the air as well. Thick, suffocating, pressing in on her. The smell of blood was heavy in the air, she could feel its stickiness of her palms, but couldn’t tell if it was someone else’s or her own. So much blood. She tried to take in a proper breath, but her lungs felt like they’d shrunk in her ribcage.

Someone – _something_ – let out a scream, and Claire whirled around, and around, trying to locate the source of it, trying to understand if it was a cry of pain or anger, but it was coming from everywhere around her, enveloping her like a cocoon, growing louder, louder, louder, until she could hear nothing else.

She collapsed on her knees, needing so desperately to curl in on herself and stop being, but her hand brushed against something on the ground. No, not something – someone. She knew what it was even in complete darkness.

In her dreams, they never made it out. In her dreams, they always died.

“Claire?”

The scream broke off abruptly, its echo fading in the distance.

In her dreams, they always died, but she never did, punished for her mistakes by having to live with the weight of loss and guilt, wishing she could take their place instead.

 _Teeth. We need more teeth_.

“Claire.”

She blinked her eyes open, and found Owen’s face hovering over her, a pale spot in the night. Her breath was short and fast and almost forced, her heart frantic.

 “What happened?” She murmured, her mouth dry.

“You were crying in your sleep,” he responded softly.

“What?” She brushed a palm to her cheek, feeling the wetness on her fingers, confused, embarrassed. The dream was already beginning to dissipate, the way most of them did, leaving nothing but a nasty aftertaste behind. Outside, the storm was raging again. They must have left the balcony door open in the living room; she could feel the cool rain-scented air on her skin. “Sorry I woke you.”

Owen brushed her hair out of her face, smoothing it. “Don’t be silly. C’mere.”

He gathered her in his arms, her cheek resting on her shoulder, their legs tangled together, until the stiffness started to leave her body, her mind no longer resembling a death trap.

“I thought it’d get easier with time, but sometimes it feels even worse,” she whispered, bundling a fistful of his shirt in her hand.

Tired. So tired....

“It will,” he promised her with enough faith for both of them, or so she hoped, as his hand started tracing slow, soothing patterns on her back. “It will get better. And you won’t even notice.”

Claire squeezed her eyes shut, breathing in the familiar scent of him, melting into him, waiting for her heart to start beating in synch with his, willing her mind to let go, to break free.

“Tell me something,” she asked Owen then, her voice nothing but a whoosh of breath.

It started as a bit of a joke back in San Diego and grew into their _thing_ , something they’d do whenever they’d end up wide awake on her couch in the middle of the night. Or sitting on the floor in the hallway. Or separated by the door to her room when he’d hear her cry and come over to talk her through it.

_Tell me something about the Navy._

_Tell me what the Thanksgivings were like when you were a kid._

_Tell me about the scar on your left wrist._

_Tell me…_

_Tell me…_

_Tell me…_

_Tell me you want me_ , she wanted to ask more times than she could count. _Tell me you need me_ , was always on the tip of her tongue. _Tell me I’m safe. Tell me not to be scared_.

It would’ve been so easy, so simple. Secrets were always meant to be shared in the dark, she thought sitting by his side, almost touching him but never quite there, never brave enough. Which was ironic – considering she didn’t even think twice before she decided to play cat and mouse with the T-Rex, and how not okay was that?

_Tell me everything I want to hear._

She’d always go for something safe instead, however ( _Tell me about your prom, tell me who you wanted to be when you grew up, tell me about your hopes and dreams and if I’m a part of them –_ yeah, maybe not this one), occasionally making him laugh – a sound so rare in the weeks following the I-Rex disaster it would always catch her by surprise.

The raptors were an unspoken taboo at first, something none of them mentioned, what with the loss of them still being too raw, and even though Owen never said it, she knew he thought Blue didn’t make it either. Back then, she never pressed, but now he was telling her a story from the training days and his unfortunate decision to give them a soccer ball, and how they ripped it into nothing in 3 seconds flat, thus hopelessly failing the whole experiment. As it turned out, the raptors were not meant to play ‘Fetch’.

She still couldn’t fully comprehend his fascination with them, their bond, but there was so much fondness in his voice, so much easiness not tainted with blood, it was overwhelming. She’d have him talk about his raptors nonstop if it was up to her, if only for the sake of catching a glimpse of the _before_ Owen, the one she never truly knew. (As if her list of regrets wasn’t long enough already.)

Her mind slipped back to their conversation earlier that day, which now seemed almost ridiculous – how on Earth was she supposed to move on with anything if she couldn’t make it through most of the nights on her own? If she needed someone else to pick up the broken parts of her and put them back together time and time again?

She didn’t know how to need someone, always a work in progress.

“Tell me something else,” Claire asked when the soccer ball story was over as she struggled to stay awake, her hand rising and falling with his steady breathing. Anything, she thought, the sound of his voice more important than what he was saying.

_Tell me you won’t leave._

_Tell me you love me._

_Tell me…_

_Tell me…_

\---

“Well, this is it.”

Owen dropped a box on the counter before Claire, blew the dust off its lid and lifted it open. Claire coughed and waved her hand before her face before peering in, and then at him, and then into the box again.

“Is this how you keep the paperwork?” She asked, almost mortified. “I… I don’t even want to know what your cheque book looks like.”

“It’s empty,” she flashed a megawatt smile at her.

“Figures,” she sighed with resignation.

In the end, it turned out to be easier to get him to take her to his bungalow than to haul his stuff back and forth in case it was another dead end, and at this point, Claire didn’t have any reason to expect any other outcome. It was still worth a try though.

“You want a Coke? Or a beer?” Owen poked his head into the fridge, then glanced at her. “I would’ve stocked up on Cabernet Sauvignon and caviar if I knew we’d be stopping by, but--”

Claire gaped at him. “I’m not high-maintenance,” she protected with fervor, which, by the looks of it, was the funniest thing Owen ever heard.

“That’s cute. I’ll have to remember that.” He put a bottle of Coke in front of her, and she threw a crumpled piece of paper at him, all righteous indignation. “How long do you think it’ll take? I’ve got to—”

“Go,” she waved him off, already pulling the files and folders out of the box. “I’ll just stay here.”

He frowned, unconvinced. “How are you going to get back?”

“Come pick me up when you’re done.” She suggested without looking up. “This might take a while.” And then, under her breath, “This is fascinating.”

Owen shook his head. “You’re such a weirdo.”

“Says the guy who spent the last few years hanging out with a bunch of raptors.”

“People are overrated,” he shrugged, and then gave Claire a pointed look when she glanced up at last. “Most of them.”

She put down the papers and leaned on her forearms over the counter. “Did I make the cut?”

He leaned forward as well, his face hovering mere inches from hers, his gaze shifting from her eyes to her slightly parted lips to her eyes again, his own mouth twitched into a wicked half-smile, and for a few moments it was like a daring game, neither one of them moving. And there it was again, that sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach that it was just too good to be true, and her heart was doing leaps in her chest, and there were so many shades of blue in his eyes…

And it was such a damn shame she couldn’t tune out the rest of the world for at least a while.

Owen crossed the little distance that still was between them, capturing her mouth with his.

“You _are_ the cut, Ms. Dearing.”

His grin was broad and contagious, and it might have as well been the best thing she’d ever heard in her life.

“My sister wants you to come over for Christmas,” Claire said.

“Really?”

“I’m not even sure she wants me there, but you – yeah.” And then, when he raised an eyebrow at her, “Don’t flatter yourself, you’d be on the babysitting duty of you go.”

“Do you want me to go, Claire?”

And somehow, she had an impression they weren’t talking about just Christmas, if the intensity in his eyes was any indication.

Claire looked away for a moment, out of the small kitchen window on the left from her, then back at Owen again, and it was so strange, so surreal. She used to think of this island as her home, her life sorted neatly and organized to the minute, and now there was this person who felt more like home than any place ever did, and didn’t have a single goddamn clue what to make of it.

“I’d really like that."

“I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” Owen pecked her on the lips once again. “Don’t get too excited over this stuff, it’s scary,” his eyes darted to the dusty box, and she smacked him on the shoulder with the back of her hand. “Really hot, but still scary.”

He tossed his empty Coke bottle into the trashcan, and then she was suddenly all alone, the rumbling of his car fading behind the trees.

The air inside the bungalow was hot and stuffy, what with it staying locked for a few weeks now. Outside, it wasn’t much cooler, though, but she still pushed the windows open, as well as the front door, allowing only the screen to stay shut for the sake of keeping the mosquitoes away. She grabbed her Coke then – not exactly her drink of choice under normal circumstances, but it was too hot to be alive, and the drink felt nice and cool, and screw it, really – and the box, and moved to the couch, purposely ignoring half a dozen emails she needed to reply to.

They waited for more reports, and more figures, and more numbers, and her best prognosis for the viability of a new park, which - ha! – she couldn’t even think about, even in theory, because they said ‘New park’ and she heard the teeth snapping at them, the old garage crumpling around her and Owen when the Indominus crushed it with her snout, the screams of the people on the Main Street attacked by the Pteranodons, her own yell ‘Run!’ And her breath hitched in her throat every time, her eyes searching instinctively for Owen to make sure he was, in fact, alive.

Back in San Diego, she’d wake up sometimes, breathless and shaking, the images of death and fear dancing before her eyes, and pad down the corridor to the living room until she could hear him breathe in his sleep. A small reassurance, but it was better than nothing.

The company was losing millions of dollars by keeping the park closed, and she could easily imagine the marketing team working on the new campaign, could probably even predict what turn it would take, what buttons they would try to push to win back the trust of people. And even though they refused to let her in on their plans, she could feel her time running out. Claire also knew there was no way she could make them see it from her standpoint – they weren’t there, they never knew what it felt like to have your whole world collapse around you – and if there was something running loose on this island...

\---

Owen had been playing a game with Blue – the one in which he was trying to get her to cooperate, and she was ignoring him entirely, or doing the exact opposite of what he was asking for - for roughly an hour and a half when his phone started to ring, instantly sending the raptor off on her merry way into the forest within her compound.

He pulled it out, thinking it was Claire.

It was not.

“Lowery.”

“ _Hey, Owen. Is Claire with you?_ ”

“No.” He turned around and tried to spot Blue wherever she was hiding behind the trees, listening to Lowery type something rhythmically on the other end of the line. “Why?”

“ _I can’t get hold of her, her phone seems to be off._ ”

“Oh, she’s… She’s in my bungalow.” Owen squinted in the sun, shading his eyes from it with his hand. They were making some progress again, but Blue was determined to make it as difficult as possible. “The reception can be spotty there. Everything okay?”

Lowery paused. “ _We found the raptor. Like, the new one. The one that what’s-his-name saw the other night._ ”

Owen froze, his arm dropping to his side. “Are you serious?”

“ _I’m looking at it right now. In fact, it’s…_ ” More typing. A bad kind of pause.

“What? It’s what?” Owen demanded.

He could all but hear the other man think hard before he finally said, “ _It’s about half a mile away from that cabin of you_ —”

Owen hung up, cutting Lowery off, and started to run.

**To be continued...**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for the support, guys. It means the world to me :)) 
> 
> I keep promising to wrap it up, but there'll still be a couple more chapters. I'm sorry, I guess? Also, I'm totally high on all the deleted scenes and BTS featurettes, because how awesome are they?!
> 
> Comments are always welcome :))


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oooookay! Are you ready for the one last round, guys? Buckle up!
> 
> This whole story was influenced to a great degree by Dire Straits' "Brothers In Arms" - because it's all about symbolism (don't get me started) and because I'm a sucker for angst.

_But it's written in the starlight,_  
_And every line in your palm -_  
_We are fools to make war_  
_On our brothers in arms._  
_'Brothers In Arms' by Dire Straits_

Much to Claire’s surprise, whatever little information Owen had on the raptors, it was obviously kept in order. More or less. Owen-Grady-kind of order. At least, chronologically speaking. Which still was more than she expected, what with his reports always being random, late and often inconsistent. Granted, she always knew that, to Owen, reporting was an unpleasant side effect of his job, not a part of it, so at least there were no surprises there.

However, what she found in his stash was more useless than not. Sure, it had everything one needed to know about the four animals in their care. She flipped through each of their files that stated the names of the raptors, their descriptions, the dates of hatching, the time when they were released into their paddock, when they were vaccinated, and so on, and so forth, as well as their psychological profiles and a brief information on the training progress. In other words, everything she could have easily found without leaving her office just by pulling up everything they already had on them from the database.

Not that she honestly expected to dig up something marked Top Secret that would magically have all the answers she was looking for.

The thought of the truths hiding behind everything she didn’t know about Masrani and InGen made Claire’s skin crawl. She wanted answers, she _needed_ answers, but was she ready to have them? Was she actually ready to open that can of worms and learn the things she’d never be able to unlearn? The images of what she could only call mutants that they saw in the lab in the midst of the I-Rex catastrophe popped up before her mind’s eye, making her shiver, reminding her that she was merely a guest in this bizarre world John Hammond created, most likely unaware of what kind of genie he was letting out of the bottle.

She shook her head and reached for her phone.

There still was no word from Karen, although Claire did know that Masrani Global offered her some sort of compensation for her ‘inconvenience’ caused by the leaked footage, and even though she hated their assumption that they could fix everything with money, a part of her was oddly satisfied by knowing that they made a mistake by messing with her sister.

No signal. Shocker.

Lips pursed, she walked into the kitchen, not quite hoping for a better reception there, but who knew?

Her head perked up at the sound of the footsteps on the porch. Careful. Calculated. In fact, she almost didn’t notice them at all, but suddenly the feeling of someone watching her from the other night was back, raising goosebumps on Claire’s arms.

“Owen?” She called out, which, of course, didn’t make any sense – she didn’t hear the sound of his car, and he would never sneak around like that.

Heart pounding heavily in her chest, Claire willed herself to stand completely still, eyes glued to the screen door, which wasn’t even a door, for that matter. Because if it was, she wouldn’t be able to see a five foot tall form on the other side of it. The form that kept swaying its tail from side to side, sniffing the air loudly.

Claire reached behind her, groping blindly around the counter. He had to have at least the knives there, didn’t he? But they were probably in the drawers and it was too much motion, too much noise, and maybe if she just stayed very still and quiet, the raptor – and that was what it was – would lose its interest and go away.

Her phone chirped, finally catching the signal that apparently required a blood sacrifice, a ritual dance, and a presence of the dinosaur, and she cursed under her breath. Soundlessly.

Not that it mattered.

The raptor’s head turned, its eye focusing on Claire for a few moments, and then it opened its mouth, emitting an excited clicking noise that made Claire’s blood run cold. It crouched lowly and jumped into the bungalow, right through the useless screen door as if it wasn’t even there.

Claire’s heart fell.

_Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God!_

She dropped the phone – what go would it do to her anyway? – and yanked the drawer closest to her open. Knives, there had to be knives here somewhere! Instead, she found nothing but all kinds of junk – chopsticks, duct-tape, plastic utensils that probably came with the take out, and other stuff that was of zero use to her against something that could shred her into nothing in under a minute. Not that she wanted to test it.

A gun.

Claire spun around, facing the raptor that kept on approaching her slowly, its mouth open, low growling sounds bubbling in the back of its throat.

Owen left her a gun. Because it was a goddamn island with the goddamn dinosaurs.

A gun she left on the table by the couch. Currently _behind_ the creature she wanted to use it against.

Her breath hitched in her throat, making her lightheaded and dizzy.

She was going to die…

The raptor charged and jumped forward, its teeth aimed at whichever part of Claire it could reach, the slash of its claws missing her by an inch.

She yelped and threw herself to the side, pulling another drawer open in the process, her shoulder connecting painfully with the counter. She could feel the animal’s breath on her skin, its eyes brazing with hunger and fury. No knives, just more junk spilling on the floor – takeout coupons, a spatula, and… Her eyes widened.

A Taser gun.

Who the hell would keep a Taser gun in their kitchen drawer?!

Claire yanked the drawer out of the cabinet altogether and threw it at the raptor who howled and hissed at the impact. Her arm reached for the gun, lighting-fast, as she prayed for it to work, and before the animal had a chance to recover from the previous assault, Claire’s finger pulled the trigger.

She was still sitting on the kitchen floor with her back pressed against the cabinet under the sink, breathing hard, when the car screeched to an abrupt stop outside a minute later and Owen flew up the porch steps and into the living room, calling out her name.

“Claire.”

He stopped short when he eyes locked with hers over the barrel of the Taser gun she was still pointing, more or less, at the raptor lying at her feet.

“Owen?” Barry stepped into the bungalow next, careful not to trip over the frame of what used to be a screen door.

“Get the handlers,” Owen told him, making his way to Claire, his eyes darting between her and the stunned animal, ready to use his tranq rifle if needed.

Barry nodded, but didn’t move, not trusting the raptor’s stillness either, his hand reaching for the walkie-talkie, bringing it to life.

“Hey,” Owen pried the Taser gun out of her trembling hands, and at the touch of his skin to hers, she all but leaped up and barreled into him, her whole body shaking.

“Owen…”

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” he murmured into her hair, holding her so tight they both could barely breathe, feeling her heart beating frantically against his chest. He pulled back just far enough to have a proper look at her face. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” She swallowed hard. “I’m… fine.”

“Good.” He exhaled with relief. “Don’t you dare scare me like this ever again.”

“Me? Scare _you_?” Her chuckle was shaky and hardly humorous, but it was so _Claire_ it almost hurt.

 “God, Claire… What is it with your family and the Tasers?” He shook his head, incredulous, and she let out a soft grunt. “What? I need to know for the future reference.”

“The team’s on the way,” Barry said behind them, and the three of them turned simultaneously to the raptor, its eye staring unseeingly up at them.

“Is it one of yours?” Claire asked, lacing her fingers with Owen’s.

He and Barry exchanged a concerned look. “No,” he said at last. “Definitely not.”

\---

Afterwards, everything was a blur.

Two more cars arrived – the handlers, the vets, a couple of ACU team members. Claire was hustled out of the bungalow – not that protested, at this point – and more people than she ever imagined the place could fit filed in, speaking in fast, short phrases with one another. On the outside, it looked almost chaotic, but she knew there was order to it all, like a carefully choreographed dance that only made sense when seen as whole.

It felt almost surreal, what with the raptor’s roar still ringing in her ears. Hell, she couldn’t even blink without its teeth popping up before her eyes, her heart skipping a beat every time. Funny how it worked – whenever she’d think this island was done with stealing her sanity, it’d go and pull something like that again. She would probably do herself a big favour if she stopped being delusional about this already…

“Look who’s getting the battle scars,” Owen said with a small smile.

They were in the First Aid station by then – again, much to Claire’s annoyance – where he all but dragged her after half of the park’s personnel finally cleared out of his place, despite her persistent _I’m fine, Owen, I swear_ because she had apparently met something with her head while trying not to get eaten and ended up with an inch-long scratch on her forehead. Which wasn’t a big a deal - and she told him as much about a hundred times - because she couldn’t even recall getting it. He ignored her promptly and, in the end, she chose to give up and let him do whatever he wanted, bearing in mind that if the tables were reversed, she’d act the exact same way.

“Why should you have all the fun?” Claire scoffed.

“Since when is this your idea of fun?” An eyebrow raised, Owen kept on dabbing her cut with an antiseptic-soaked cotton ball, and it was _this_ hard not to wave him off because seriously!?

But she was still feeling like the raptor ripped some part of her to pieces, although which one, she couldn’t quite tell yet. And it was so easy to let him pick up the loose fragments of her and put them back together until she was Claire Dearing again, or whatever passed for her these days. He was the only one who could do it; the only one she trusted to do it right.

Then he lowered his hand, the upbeat façade gone and his eyes suddenly scared. “Hey, you’re fine, right?”

She paused for a heartbeat, and then another one, her hands gripping the edge of the counter she was sitting on like it could help her find her balance in this crazy world.

“Yeah. Yes, I am. Considering.” And she was. Much to her own amazement. She was shaken and bruised, but alive, and so was he, and the scars, both physical and emotional, would stop aching someday, that much Claire was certain of. And it was the only thing that mattered. Oddly enough, she really was okay. “Is she… did you put her in the raptors’ paddock?”

Owen shook his head. “No, the I-Rex’s cage for now. It stands empty anyway. She needs to get a tracking implant first. And…” He tossed the cotton ball into the garbage bin and put the first aid kit back into the cupboard. “Well, it would be nice to make sure she’s just a raptor and not—I don’t even know, honestly.” He let out a long sigh and offered her _You know what I mean_ shrug, and she did. “Besides, I don’t know if Blue’s gonna be okay with the new company, or how said company would react to Blue, for that matter.”

He had already told her that this raptor was brand new – not a part of his original pack, and she could see he was still trying to wrap his mind around this discovery. Physically, she looked like she could be Blue’s age, but he explained that they’d have to run some tests to be sure. His best guess was that she was a part of some secret InGen’s project, but without Wu to confirm it, they couldn’t really tell. Not that it mattered – she was yet another animal that didn’t belong in this world, stuck on an island there was no escape from. For now, it was all they needed to know.

Claire nodded, her features softening. “Did you name her already?”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Wait, I thought I wasn’t allowed to name anyone.”

She looked away and out the window behind which the day was so bright and sunny it almost hurt to look. So bright and so full of new beginnings, Claire thought. She wondered if it was why she could hardly bear the sight of it – endless possibilities were terrifying.

“Claire?”

Her gaze shifted, but she was still looking anywhere but at Owen, wishing there was another way to tell him the news other than, “They’ll make an official announcement within the next few days.”

Beside her, he froze. “The reopening.” A statement, not a question.

She nodded, eyes darting toward her phone. “I got a call while you were busy hauling the tranquilized raptor around. It’ll take a while, but—eventually.” Her lips curved into a sad not quite smile and she finally turned to him again. “I guess you can name whoever you want now.”

She watched a flash of anger flicker across his features until something akin resignation and defeat settled in, and her chest tightened. He was hoping for a better resolution than that. They both were, but she guessed she was a little more realistic about it. It didn’t surprise her as much as it probably should have, not as much as it hit him, by the looks of it.

“Wow. Anyone? I don’t even know what to do with all this freedom.” Owen’s voice wasn’t bitter, but his overall demeanor was far from excited.

“They agreed to my terms,” she added. “Most of them. As far as hybrids and gene splicing go.”

“Wait, are you blackmailing them?”

“I’m… offering compelling arguments.”

“Which is what, corporate for blackmailing?”

“Let’s say, I’m determined enough to keep the history from repeating itself to push the buttons they don’t want me to push,” she responded if a bit vaguely.

Owen studied her for a few moments, his internal battle so evident she’d find it funny under other circumstances.

“You don’t have to do it at all, Claire. It’s okay to walk away.”

“I’ve been thinking about it, actually,” she admitted with a small smile, feeling an overwhelming need to apologize and not quite sure what for. Maybe for the choice she thought they’d make together but she had already made on her own, because surviving wasn’t enough anymore – she needed to learn how to _live_ again. “About what it would be like to leave. And, as it turns out, it’s the fact that I don’t _have_ to that makes me want to give it another try.”

 _Even if_ _it’s not what you want_ , she thought.

She could see it in his eyes, in the stiff line of his shoulders, in his jawline. In everything about him, and it was shattering her heart to pieces. Determination was a good thing. Determination could take you far – it took Claire where she was now, and she didn’t feel apologetic about it. But what if it cost her him? Was it the price she was willing to pay?

Owen opened his mouth to say something, but she beat him to it. “Frankly, all I want right now is to get out of this place.” She looked around them and grimaced. “I’ve come here more times in the past few weeks than in the past eight years, and it starts getting old.”

They would have to talk about it. But not now.

She had to stop being such a damn coward first, and that might take a while.

He was right, of course, she’d done more than enough. More than anyone in her position would do, and it should count for something. And it did, in a way, but she wasn’t ready to close that book just yet and shelve it away. The real question, however, was whether or not she was willing to rip out the best chapter. 

Claire slid off the counter, and instantly, Owen’s arm was around her shoulders as he drew her in. “Come on, let’s get you out of here,” his lips pressing to the top of her head, making her stomach fall just a little bit again.

She couldn’t remember the last time it wasn’t about all or nothing, but her current situation couldn’t be filed under either of those categories. She wasn’t used to it. She was still learning. For all she knew, she’d be leaning for the rest of her life. Finding middle ground wasn’t easy - never had been, for that matter - but maybe if she gave it more time, it could actually work.

She tugged at his shirt, leaning into him for a moment.

Middle ground was about the balance.

Middle ground was terrifying.

Then again, most things were.

\---

Footsteps. People running. Sun blazing high in the clear blue sky. Hot air on his face. Hard packed sand under his feet. People screaming, a child crying. Gunshots. Hot air on his face. Dust and sand in his eyes. Gunshots. People running. _Faster, faster!_

Night. Rain beating up on him, humid air heavy and thick, hard to move through. The soles of his boots sinking into the mud. People screaming. A child crying. Thunder rolling over the trees. Slipping and falling down and climbing up to his feet again. Gunshots. People running.

Sun. Blood – on his hands, on his clothes, under his feet. More gunshots. Wind throwing sand in his face. A child crying. People screaming. Asphalt under his feet. His muscles burning, the gun slipping out of his hands. Not fast enough.

Teeth. More teeth. _We need more teeth!_

People screaming. Blood. Blood everywhere. His heart beating fast. Gunshots. Night. Deafening roar. The sound of the crunching bones. Ground trembling beneath his feet.

_Faster, faster!_

“Owen?”

He was sitting in bed, his eyes open and staring into nothing, his breathing labored, his body rigid.

“Owen,” Claire called again, her voice small and pleading. She crawled over to kneel beside him and framed his face with her hands. “Hey, look at me… I’m here.”

He’d done that for her, pulling her out to the surface every time, his voice always steady, the touch of his hands sure. He knew what he was doing. She didn’t. She was scared. She was panicking and her hands were shaking, the words coming out all wrong and unconvincing.

She turned his face to her, but his eyes remained glassy, unseeing, beads of sweat forming over his eyebrows.

“Owen, wake up.” Claire ran her trembling fingers through his rumpled hair, certain that it was the opposite of soothing. “It’s fine. It’s over,” she whispered. “You’re safe. Everything’s fine. Please, wake up.”

The words were right, but her voice kept betraying her, small and weak. She wasn’t even sure he was asleep. It didn’t look like it. She couldn’t recall seeing him like that before, and all her attempts to draw his attention seemed to be useless and stupid. The truth was, she had no idea what she was doing, and it was a whole new level of scary she didn’t know how to deal with.

“Please,” she repeated, holding his face in her hands. _Please, God. Please_. “Can you hear me? Owen…”

At last, he blinked slowly. Once. Twice. His eyes focusing on hers, his breathing evening out almost minutely.  “Claire?”

“Hey,” she croaked, her lips trembling.

Owen swallowed, still confused and disoriented. “What happened?”

“A… bad dream?” She leaned her forehead against his, still struggling to catch her own breath, her whole body nearly crumpling under the weight of relief that washed over her. _Thank you_. “Just a bad dream. It’s over.”

“Yeah.” He agreed as his fingers curled around her wrist. “Yeah, it is.”

“You scared me.”

“Sorry. Happens sometimes. Old scars acting up.” He touched his lips to her temple. “Thanks.” His voice was just a whoosh of breath on her skin. “For getting me out of it.”

“You’re better at it,” she admitted with a shaky wistfulness.

“It’s not a competition.” He smoothed her hair with his other hand, allowing his lips to twist into a small smile. “Otherwise you’d be unbeatable.”

Palms still on his face, Claire pulled back, indignant, not quite sure if she appreciated his attempt at a joke, or was insulted by it. “Excuse me—” She started, but faltered under his gaze. “What?”

He watched her for a few moments, his lips curved ever so slightly. “I need you, Claire,” he said at last, sounding almost as surprised as she felt, and there was something about the way he looked at her, about the way he threaded his fingers through her hair that almost broke her in half.

“I know,” she smiled back in that _Duh?!_ way. “For survival.”

“No.” His other hand wrapped around her second wrist. “For… always.”

Her stomach flew all 33 feet up to the Olympics diving platform, and paused at the edge as if to assess the situation, maybe catch its breath. It bounced once, then twice, then gained a momentum for one final push, and then it surged forward and down, making two slow flips in the air before hitting the water and sinking deep, deep, deep, spreading the glowing warmth all over her body.

“That’s… a very long time,” Claire whispered softly.

“Well, some things are worth holding on to for a very long time.” He shrugged, looking at her quietly, waiting for his words to sink in. “And on that note, you gotta stop waiting for me to take off.”

She cleared her throat. “I’m not—”

“Yes, you are.”

“I can’t _ask_ you to stay, Owen. Not for me.”

“Well, maybe I want to stay.” He said rather matter-of-factly.

“You do?” She asked skeptically. “Because you’re good at hiding it.”

“Look, I don’t have a problem with this place. I mean, I do. They’re morons to try and pull it off again and think that the people will just _forget_. But it doesn’t change the fact that I want you – with your dinosaurs, and your itineraries, and your check-lists, and your weird obsession to have everything under control at all times—” he chuckled at her eye roll, “and everything that makes you _you_. And did I mention dinosaurs?”  

He had to stop knocking the ground from under her feet because… because…

“What if it’s not enough?”

“If you’re in, I’m in. It’s as simple as that.” His thumb ran over the scatter of freckles on her cheek. “Remember how you said you didn’t know who you were without me?” She nodded. “Well, screw it. I don’t _want_ to know who I am without you.”

Claire bit her lip to stop herself from breaking into a smile. “I guess I could use another trainer now that we have a brand new raptor on our hands.”

His eyebrow crept up slowly. “So, you _do_ want me?”

In near complete darkness, dispersed only barely by the moonlight filtering through the thin curtains, his eyes were almost black, his lips curved into that knowing, almost smug smile that went along with the careful choice of his words. And when did it get so hard to breathe?

 _You have no idea_ , she wanted to say, but his hand slipped behind her head, and then his lips were on hers and he was kissing het like she was his oxygen, and pulling her down with him, his hands fumbling with her clothes, his fingers lacing through her hair, his whisper washing over her.

 _I need you_.

Claire dropped her head, pressing slow, hot kisses to his neck, delighting in the way his breathing shortened under her touch, her eyes fluttering closed now and then. Being with Owen was the most normal, the most natural thing that happened to her since _that_ day, but even so, in the back of her mind, she knew she’d never not be terrified of being so depended on another person. All her life, she struggled to be in control. Leaning that it was an illusion at best hit her hard. Knowing that there was nothing but chaos ahead all but paralyzed her. but it was so easy not to think about it, put it off for another day, when she could melt into him and find peace again.

Owen’s hands slid down her back and he rolled them over, his face hovering over hers for a few moments while her fingers tugged impatiently at his shirt until he finally allowed her pull it over his head.

“Claire, I…” the words were forming and dying in his tongue, tangling into a lump in his throat, his entire world zeroed down to the moonlight reflecting in her eyes as his heart tried to outrun itself, blood pumping loudly in his ears.

“I know,” she whispered, craning her neck to kiss his chin, the corner of his mouth, his lips. “Me, too.”   

\---

Claire woke up to the sun beaming in her face and a _WHAT THE HELL, CLAIRE?!_ text from Karen because the word apparently started getting out, and she was both relieved not to have to carry the news inside of her, and petrified by the idea of what was coming next.

She rubbed her eyes and rolled over, and then sat up in the bed when she found Owen’s side empty, her eyes landing automatically on the digital alarm clock on the nightstand. It was just past 7.

She kicked the covers off, grabbed his button down from the chair and padded into the living room, and sure enough, he was standing outside on the balcony, his eyes swiping the wide expanse of the island below. Her heart swelling with affection at the sight of his bedhead and his stubbornly squared chin, Claire walked up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist from behind.

“I need you, too, you know,” she murmured, pressing a kiss to the base of his neck and then resting her forehead between his shoulder blades.

Owen let out an airy laugh, the sound vibrating through his body and into hers, and wrapped his arms around hers.

They stood like this for a few minutes, and then he said, “It might actually work.”

“Hm?” She stepped around him, ducking under his arm to nestle closer to the warmth of his body in the cool morning air. From above, the park looked quiet and peaceful, and one had to survive the worst of it to really understand how deceiving this impression was. It was wild, and she knew it would take without thinking twice, and not give anything in return. “It’s not going to be easy.”

“But it’ll be fun.”

“Everything needs to be fun with you.” She shook her head, trying oh so hard not to smile.

“Otherwise, what’s the point?” Owen brushed his lips to her hair.

The both turned around to the chirping of her phone somewhere in the suite.

“This is it?” He asked.

Claire looked at him. “This is it.”

\---

That thing that she said to Owen in the Innovation Center about needing to have a better closure than a settlement cheque from Masrani wasn’t just a sentiment. But it did take Claire a little while to figure it out for herself. In fact, she didn’t fully realize what she was after until the words slipped out of her mouth. It wasn’t about the guilt, even though there was plenty of it involved - she wasn’t going to deny that. It wasn’t about making things right, although she wouldn’t be Claire Dearing if it wasn’t a #1 reason on her ever-growing list. She was not going to turn herself into a martyr after directly - or indirectly - causing more deaths than she could’ve imagined possible, not when her personal involvement was at play, at least.

But, as it turned out, it was primarily about finding her own place in the world that couldn’t be fixed by sticking to itineraries. In the world that was completely and utterly out of control. In the world that collapsed around her once and could collapse again, and she had to be prepared for it. For all Claire knew, it was an inevitability rather than a possibility. If she knew anything at all, it was that.

Of course, she couldn’t bring back to life those who found their end on Isla Nublar, couldn’t fix the broken souls of those who made it out. Hell, she couldn’t even fix herself, and that was, by far, the most unsettling discovery she’d made. But, at the same time, she couldn’t keep on being stuck in this limbo between here and there, not quite holding back, but not moving forward either. Trying to find the solid ground under her feet was new and scary, scarier than anything she’d ever done before, but the alternative was simply unacceptable.

What they did in this park was inexcusable. Not just the creation of the I-Rex and the ensued massacre, but the path John Hammond had started them on over twenty years ago. They had no right to meddle with the nature, to put their greed ahead of everything, and now they were paying the price for it. There was no way of undoing that, but the least she could do was stop running and face the reality she was only half seeing all this time. For her own sake, as well as Owen’s, as well as her family’s. She didn’t _want_ to run anymore.

The original park had never been about Claire, per se, but the aftermath of its downfall belonged to her. Right now, it was hard to say if she even had a chance at succeeding, but she knew she would never be able to live with herself if she didn’t give it a try. There was no prize at the end of the journey this time, no big titles and no praise, and, strangely, she was relieved by it. For once, her goal was pure by itself, and it was refreshing. Terrifying, too, but so was everything worth fighting for.

Maybe she could pull it off, and maybe she couldn’t, but her story with the Jurassic World had to make a full circle and come back to where it started – a new beginning, both frightening and exciting. She was still working on whether or not this new story would be hers at all, but this time it would be a choice and not a path she couldn’t get off.

Claire looked up when someone rapped their knuckles on the half-open door to her office to find Owen’s head poking in.

“Hey, you busy?”

She felt her lips stretch into a wide smile as she pushed her laptop away. “As busy as I’ll be for the next… while.”

He crossed the room and leaned over her desk to peck her on the lips, and then she grabbed a fistful of his shirt and pulled him down for a proper kiss, feeling his smile against her mouth.

“Did everything go okay?”

They were supposed to relocate the new raptor – Fern, as Owen named her – into Blue’s cage to see how they’d react to one another. She already had a report from Lowery who watched the process via the cams while she sweet-talked more sponsors into giving the new and improved park another chance, and knew that as far as life-and-death situations went, it was a relatively easy operation to perform. Which still didn’t cancel out the relief of seeing Owen chipper and, most importantly, in one piece, and beaming like he had found the biggest treasure in the world.

And maybe he did.

On some level, maybe they both did.

“I now officially have two raptors to play with,” he smiled wickedly at her, and Claire shook her head, as if saying _I’ll never head the end of it now, will I?_ “They weren’t happy, but they’ll live. And…” He shrugged, but she knew he was anything but nonchalant, “Blue’s not alone anymore.”

She reached to wipe a smudge of dirt from his forehead. “It’s what you wanted, right?”

“Among other things,” he added wattage to his smile, making her lose the train of her thought (and she seriously needed to tell him not to look at her like that while at work because... what were they talking about, again?) His gaze roamed around the room for a moment. “I thought I’d whisk you away for a quick ride in the park, before you slipped back into your suits and heels and the whole Operations Manager personality again.”

Claire arched an eyebrow at him.

She knew he meant it as a joke, but her heart skipped a beat nonetheless, and she promised herself once again that whatever and whoever she was _before_ , she’d left that part of Claire Dearing in the past.

Her gaze landed on her phone and a stack of print-outs she needed to discuss with someone or the other, her mind automatically going through her agenda for the day. There were emails to be answered, reports to be finished, calculations to be made, and about a million other things waiting to be done in-between. She had to talk to the contractors who were supposed to finish bringing the Main Street in order, and arrange a conference call with the headquarters tomorrow – which was to say that she wasn’t likely to run out of stuff to do for a decade or so.

But then again, it wasn’t going anywhere, and she’d spent enough time in those walls for one lifetime to allow herself to have a couple of hours off.

And then there was wind in her hair, and Owen’s bike revving underneath them, going faster until she felt like they were about to take off and soar into the sky. And her heart was racing as the late afternoon sun colored everything gold. The air was hot and humid, smelling strongly of earth and orchids, and she breathed it in deeply, filling her lungs and her whole self.

Owen laughed as they sped up, cutting through the island that was all but running in her veins now.

She was alive, so alive, and everything was just getting started.

**The end**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, first of all, I'd like to thank everyone for sticking around for all 10 chapters, and for your kind words, and support, and for just being so unbelievably awesome! 
> 
> Second of all, I hope the ending wasn't disappointing. I'm sorry if it was. I honestly did my best to wrap up everything nicely. The story was supposed to be focused primarily on Claire and Owen, so I hope that at least that worked :)) 
> 
> Comments and opinions are always welcome :))  
> See ya on the flip side!


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